


When The Snake Bites

by Avery_Fontaine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar lives, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar won, Ambition, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Cleverness, Cunnilingus, Dorne, Dornishmen's Wife, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Falling In Love, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow knows something, Manipulation, Mind Games, Possessive Jon, Pragmatism, R plus L equals J, Rebellion, Rough Sex, Sand Snakes - Freeform, Smut, Stepstones, machiavellian, machinations, political maneuvering, there will be blood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2018-10-28 19:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 54,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Fontaine/pseuds/Avery_Fontaine
Summary: They say Jon Targaryen is the cause of the rebellion. Most say he is a bastard. After losing his mother, Queen Lyanna, Jon's mood became stormy and he turned to the sword to occupy his mind. In a moment of anger, he beat his half-brother, the crown prince Aegon, publicly in a duel. Fearing Jon may go the way of Daemon Blackfyre, King Rhaegar sends him to Dorne to be consort to the beautiful Princess, Arianne Martell. Little does Rhaegar know, the Princess may be more dangerous to his reign than his own son.





	1. The Beginning

 

 

**Jon**

_I am no Blackfyre. I am no Blackfyre._

 

Prince Jon Targaryen paced outside of his Father's solar, waiting for him to end his impromptu meeting with his advisors. A meeting caused by him.

He should have known what he was doing. He should have known not to...

But it was what he needed. If he hadn't swung his blade truly he might have gone mad. Now his fate was uncertain.

Jon huffed. 

_And the day began so well._

 

The sun shone over King's Landing, waking the black prince, the dragon's wolf, or as some would call him, the bastard of King Rhaegar. The chirps of birds and splashing of the sea sounded throughout his room. Jon Targaryen woke and began his morning routine: a run around the Keep followed by training with the Kingsguard.

As he dressed in his morning wear, a simple shirt and breeches, Jon noticed the scars on his arms and chest. They had somewhat healed, though most remained, ever a reminder of his scuffles with the ironborn.

He tied his hair back, as he usually did. He remembered his mother liked it that way.

Queen Lyanna, for as short a period she was Queen, surely had an impact on her son, in more ways than one.

Realizing he might have to break his fast at the royal table with his family, Jon decided to eat early. Mayhaps it was a terrible thing to wish to see less of them, but he knew it would make things less tense. 

Inwardly he hoped he might get along with his good-mother Elia and half-sister. But Queen Elia's obviously false smiles grew more tiresome each day, and Rhaenys did not hope to talk to him since their falling out.

Jon wasn't sure what Aegon thought of him, but he secretly believed the crown prince was jealous. Aegon rarely spoke to him, and when they did have to in social situations, he treated Jon more as a joke and a diversion than a brother, an endless source of slight jipes. But why else would a crown prince belittle his younger brother, if not to undermine the fact that he was next in line for the throne?

_Next in line._

That notion gained ever more attention, especially after the Greyjoys. The year past, Balon Greyjoy had declared himself grey king of the Iron Islands. The old fool considered the kingdoms too weak, and too divided, to stop him.

The Greyjoys attacked the North and the Riverlands. The two kingdoms which had once rebelled against the King, called their banners to fight off the ironborn. Yet they suffered greatly at every raid. 

Once informed of this news at court, King Rhaegar offered to send his men to fight the invaders, and considered Aegon to join for vanguard. A man of his age, and a prince, would do well to march on a battlefield. But Aegon openly refused, reasoning that the North had to learn the price of rebellion, and should only be given support when the northern lords crawled to the crown on their knees. It wasn't forgotten that the North never paid for their rebellion, and it was no secret that Lord Eddard had nothing but disdain for the King who stole his sister.

Jon instead volunteered to lead the assault, and every eye turned to him. The so-called bastard of Rhaegar, as he was called in the South, wished to test his mettle in war.

Whether out of madness or shrewdness, Rhaegar agreed. A son of his should see war, he said. And he could get to know his mother's people.

The southern lords passed this off as a meaningless gesture. Few of them accepted Jon as a true heir, and the date at which Rhaegar married Lyanna was still in question. All that kept him from being a bastard was his Father's word. The South paid him little mind to the black prince heading north.

And surely no one expected him to come back as a hero. Jon's men had the most success in battle, and Jon personally slew three of Greyjoy's sons. The rebellion ended when Balon's neck met the edge of Jon's blade. 

Now the bastard of Rhaegar was to the Riverlands and the North, the Kraken-Killer. And yet again notion of rebellion struck. Few of the northern houses had love for the south, and after Aegon's comment, some might have believed that they had a prince of the north to replace Aegon.

But King Rhaegar, ever the calculating man, simply called for his son to return to King's Landing. He would be given a suitable welcome, and think nothing of rebellion. And the less he could be influenced by northern lords, the better.

When Jon returned to the Keep, he was met by the Kingsguard and his friend and mentor, Ser Arthur Dayne. 

"I heard you slew a Kraken on horseback," the knight said proudly, "Quite a feat."

"I wouldn't say so," Jon replied with a smile, "The iron men aren't skilled warriors, only ravagers. They couldn't match us in a proper sword fight."

The Kingsguard laughed and one of them slapped his back. If one thing was certain, it was that most of the guards loved Jon. Unlike Aegon, who preferred reading about the kingdoms or being between a woman's legs, Jon always wanted to learn to fight. It was not lost on the Kingsguard why Jon was great warrior; he spent most of his free time training with them.

When supper arrived Jon ate with his family. He tried to keep the awkwardness to a minimum. 

"Your success on the battlefield, Jon," King Rhaegar started, "impresses me. Do not think I've forgotten. You'll be given a proper reward." Rhaegar's violet eyes flashed at him briefly, affirming his quiet pride. 

That was what Jon needed. Acknowledgement from his Father was the grandest thing. Jon tried not to smile dumbly. "Thank you, Your Grace," he answered. Jon then noticed Rhaegar's long, silver hair was unkempt and messy. The stresses of being King, most like.

Jon saw that Aegon was hardly touching his food; Aegon, who looked like a younger version of his father, was always a mystery to Jon. "It would be proper," Aegon said suddenly, meeting Jon's eyes, "Mayhaps one day you'll be given a pretty wife, or you can join my Kingsguard when the time comes." Whether it was a shallow jipe or a serious proposition, Jon had no clue.

"I heard you fought well, Jon," Queen Elia suddenly said, the petite woman smiling brightly, "I'm sure you know you'll be properly rewarded. Eventually."

Jon could tell that the woman kept it together well. Her facade as a loving good-mother was almost perfect.

Rhaenys, however, stayed silent. The young Dornish girl would have been more vocal, he knew, if not for his presence.

"Yes, Your Grace," he simply replied.

 

When the day in question finally arose, Aegon was fighting knights of the Kingsguard, in a grand show for the crowd. It could only be called a show, given that the men were going easy on the prince. Aegon, to his credit, knew how to fight, but not as well as those experienced men. He wore his dragon-plated armour, just as King Rhaegar had.

Still, many ladies of the city and high lords watched the prince take down his enemies. Women swooned and asked to bed him. Jon was sure Aegon would, if they were pretty enough.

Jon contented himself by sitting in a chair next to Ser Arthur, waiting for the crown prince to end his charade so he and the men could truly fight.

As Aegon "finished" Ser Jonothor, he rose his sword in the air in triump. "Do not underestimate your future king, boys!" he shouted proudly. 

Jon wondered if the high lords were as tired of Aegon's charades as he. To any trained eye, it was clear that the crown prince had been given an easy win. And surely some had to be annoyed at how he indulged in the lustful gazes of the common girls.

"Jon," Aegon suddenly said, pointing at him with a sword, "it's been too long since we sparred. Care to face me?"

"It's not like I have a chance to win," Jon shouted, hoping to get out of the situation. "I'll stay out of this one, Your Grace."

"Come now, little brother," Aegon whined, "You can't be so afraid of me. Some lords call you a great swordsmen. Let's see if you can fight me as well as you did those iron savages." Aegon smiled a dangerous smile, challenging Jon in every sense of the word. Jon had no choice.

"Aye," he simply stated. Ser Arthur looked at him sadly and gave him his blade. 

Aegon and Jon fought. For every blow Aegon struck, Jon struck another. Every swing matched a block from Jon. It was too obvious that Jon could match Aegon blow for blow, and that Aegon was furious at that fact. 

He swung his sword fiercely, too fiercely to be a sparring blow, and Jon barely dodged it. He knew he had to lose quickly. When Aegon threw his final swing, Jon feigned and fell to the ground. Aegon quickly rose above him, his sword by Jon's throat. 

"The battle is over!" Aegon cried. "Your crown prince is victorious over the black prince of the North." Many women cheered and few lords clapped. "Come now, brother, I expected so much more than that. Wasn't your Lady Mother a warrior?"

At that, Jon's eyes filled with rage and he quickly pushed Aegon's blade out of the way and rose to his feet. "You wish to fight?!" Jon yelled, now intolerant of Aegon's jipes. Aegon looked to be caught off guard, but tried to maintain his posturing in front of the crowd.

"Aye, if you'll give me a proper fight," Aegon answered.

Jon reached to the ground got his sword. "A proper fight," he muttered to himself.

Jon got his sword and pointed it at Aegon, and the battle began. This time, Jon attacked first. Every blow he struck hit Aegon's armor, and Aegon struggled to keep up with Jon's speed. While they had both been trained by the Sword of the Morning, only one of them took their training to heart. 

Jon charged and suddenly swung at Aegon, cutting the dragon plate on his armour. Aegon walked back quickly and tried to hold up his blade in defense. Then Jon swung at the hilt of Aegon's sword, knocking it out of his hands. Aegon's back hit the wall of the Keep, and Jon put his sword up to his neck. 

"Yield," he ordered icily.

Aegon looked both terrified and surprised. "I yield," he said quietly. 

At that moment, Jon realized the crowd was quiet. No one spoke, and their once cheering faces looked only in surprise and awe. 

Jon walked back to Ser Arthur and gave him his sword. By the look on Ser Arthur's face, Jon knew that he was fucked.

 

Jon continued pacing outside his father's solar, waiting for an answer. 

Then the door opened and Jon was met by Lord Jon Connington, his namesake. 

"Come in, my prince," the Hand said.

Jon entered and saw his Lord Father behind his desk.

"Before you speak, Jon," King Rhaegar said, "Know that I understand. If Aegon spoke about Lyanna so flippantly around me, I would have done the same. But know that your brother meant no disrespect to the Queen, only to highlight her past as a shield maiden." Rhaegar stopped, and looked down. "You know what the northerners say of Aegon."

Jon didn't want to say it. "They say he's another Aegon the Unworthy," Jon got out. He knew always to speak firmly and directly to his father.

King Rhaegar sat, inviting Jon to sit as well. Lord Connington sat next to him. "I'm afraid I haven't paid much attention to my son's activities outside the Keep. He knows how to rule; I have taught him that. But I never was one to teach him manners." 

Jon was confused why his father would bash Aegon so openly, until his father spoke. "But these allegations are exaggerated, by your mother's people. They have no love for me. They'd see you on the throne," Rhaegar uttered darkly.

Jon wondered if his response was a test of his loyalty. "I wouldn't take it," Jon said, "Aegon's a fine man, and I'm not suited for the throne."

Rhaegar stopped and leaned back. "Aye, you are," Rhaegar said, "you've been prepared all your life for that possibility. But that doesn't mean you will let that happen." He turned to Lord Connington.

The redheaded man spoke. "We've chosen your bethrothed Jon," he said, "you'll be consort to the Princess of Dorne."

Jon was speechless. His father had rarely spoken about who he would choose for him as a wife, or if he would choose at all. Now he was to go to Dorne.

"Dorne," he said, "I'll be a consort?"

"It's an honorable station," King Rhaegar said, "and Prince Doran has already accepted the proposal. They say the Princess is the most beautiful woman in all of Dorne. You were owed a reward. You've gotten it."

Jon didn't know what to say. He knew little of Dorne beyond it's warm climate and the oddities of the Rhoynar. Now he would have a wife.

At the end of their meeting, Jon left dazed and uncertain.

_Dorne. Of all places._

And then it struck him. If he was in Dorne, he would be least likely to succumb to any Northern influences. Under the thumb of Queen Elia's family, he would never do harm to the crown.

 

 **Arianne**  

As the Princess of Dorne ended her night with a new man, she gazed up at the night sky. Her dark eyes beautifully reflected the light of the stars, and she gave a clever smirk.

Her brother would soon be named Prince of Dorne, a title which belonged to her.

But Arianne knew however, that with the right _suggestions_ , she would have far more. She would be Queen.


	2. Why Daemon Won Blackfyre

 

 

 

 

 **Yoren**  

 

"They say he beat the crown prince in a duel. Humiliated the lad," said one prisoner. He was a young man, dirty and foul. His red hair reminded Yoren of a riverman. "Do you reckon he'll try to take the throne?"

"Ah, he's a bastard," replied a elderly man. "No matter what the king says; they all know it, and everyone remembers what happened to the last Blackfyre. They'll send him away."

Their conversation had continued as they walked from King's Landing to the Crossing. Night's Watchmen guarded the group to ensure the prisoners, and eventual recruits, would not run away. Apparently some new recruit had witnessed the princes dueling, and now it was all they could talk about. The old man, who the boys called "milord," apparently had some name to him, some lordship now forsaken.

"You wouldn't know, boy," said the old man, "You smallfolk wouldn't understand the lengths to which the high lords go to ensure stability. And bastards are quite dispensible."

"I don't know much about that, milord," said the young man, "but I know men respect someone who can hold their own in a fight. Some fair-haired prince and some titles ain't gonna stop that. 'Sides, ain't we all bastards now, brothers of the Watch?" The young man smiled cheekily.

"Heh, I'm not like you; you're probably a bastard too," the elderly man responded, offended.

" 'Suppose you're right about that one, milord. We ain't the same. I'm here cuz I stole some bread and oats. What are you here for again? Touching some high lord's daughter?" the young man laughed.

"Alright, that's enough!" Yoren yelled. "No more talk of this. The affairs of the realm are not our concern."

The two men huffed and turned away, continuing their journey.

Come winter, both men would probably die. Kingslanders weren't the toughest recruits, only the boldest.

As Yoren looked back at King's Landing fading into the distance, he knew that trouble brewed for the realm. Too often was the Watch concerned with protecting the realms of men from the threats beyond the wall. The real danger came more often when the high lords played their games.

 

**Jon**

 

The reactions from the kingdoms were diverse. The King's second son would marry the Princess of Dorne, and so forego any other possible alliances. Some Houses sent letters, while many others simply let their opinions be known through gossip.

The Westerlands and the Reach were quite content to have "the Next Blackfyre" far away from the crown, and the Crownlands yet had those who were sad to see Jon leave. 

From Dragonstone, Daenerys and Dowager Queen Rhaella each sent Jon a letter of congratulations. When Jon last visited Dragonstone, he had grown quite close to the two of them, far more than he had with his immediate family. His grandmother Rhaella was truly a kind woman. Viserys, who was visiting Pentos at the time, would be happy to know he would keep Dragonstone. It was a continuing question in the Keep whether the second son of the King would hold the island, as per tradition.

The North had yet to send a single message. Many assumed Jon would marry one of his Stark cousins, but after the Greyjoy rebellion, he knew his father wanted the North to hold no sway over the prince.

Jon received the saddest letter of all from the Riverlands. Roslin Frey had written to him about their love that could never be and how she would miss him. When the ironborn laid siege on the Twins, Jon and his men went and liberated the lands. Lord Frey, the old lecher, had the gall to offer Jon his daughters as a reward. It was a likely ploy to impregnate one of them and gain a royal babe of House Frey, knowing that the bastard of Rhaegar would never sire a bastard of his own, and be forced to marry. Yet even upon refusal, Jon could not help but find himself drawn to the young girl. Her hair brown and long, her features delicate and pretty, Roslin was the only one opposed to seducing the prince, and still she was the only one to win his heart. The nights they spent together at the Twins would be the best he had during the war.

Jon knew he should have said no, but war makes all men weary, and he was yet a young man, virile and curious. He would not soon forget her.

Then came the letter from Sunspear. It was not from Prince Doran, or from his bethrothed. Rather, it was from their maester, Caleotte. The letter informed him to be prepared for the differences in Dornish customs, compared to those in King's Landing. Jon knew the Dornish were more tolerant, and they worshipped the Seven far more leniently, but he had never been in the land, not since he was babe.

Jon remembered Aegon once joking that Dorne was a bastard's paradise, given its tendency to provide for every desire one might want. Naturally Jon saw it as another subtle jab, one that he took with silent frustration. He did not know if he was truly a bastard, or if he simply felt that way as the unwanted second son. 

Jon thought back to when he put his blade on Aegon's neck, and smiled. For as foolish an action as it was, it felt good to beat his little shit of brother. The look of worry and fear of Aegon's face was almost worth it all.

The Hand informed him that Princess Arianne would travel to King's Landing with her uncle and cousins, and a brief tourney would be held in their honor. After that, it would be a fortnight before they married and left for Dorne. 

Everything was moving so fast, and Jon had little idea what to do. Part of him felt anger towards his Father and family for sending him away, the second son who had only wished to be recognized. More of him wished only to fight and take charge of his life. However, there always was the sweet voice of his mother in his head, always reminding him to do his duty, to love his family. No matter how he felt, honoring her memory always won outright.

After he finished reading the letters, Jon decided to walk through the Keep until he reached his guards. He needed to practice. Swordplay always eased his mind.

As he walked down the halls, he looked through the windows outside and saw that it was beginning to rain. At that, he stopped. Few men wish to fight in mud.

Frustrated ever more, he decided to leave the Keep.

 

 **Arianne**  

The ride from Dorne was pleasant enough. They rode to Ghost Hill and sailed to King's Landing. As they approached land, Arianne thought back to her conversation with her father.

"The second son?" she responded, "I'm to marry _Jon_  Targaryen?" 

Her father had given her news she had not anticipated. 

"You will," Doran said, "the King and I have considered it the best possible match for you, and the realm."

It was not what she wanted to hear. Her goal since Aegon's first trip to Dorne was to court him, seduce him and marry him for his crown. It should have been easy, but the crown prince had apparently decided he would stick his cock in every woman besides her. 

Insulted and challenged, she decided to let him see what life without her would be, and see him crawl back to her. Now, however, that was impossible.

"Prince Jon is an honorable man, and will make a fine husband. Promise me, daughter, you'll give him a chance," he said. His tone was weak, no matter how firm he tried to sound. 

It made Arianne angry; her father was too weak to do anything. Rhaegar wanted his son to take her for a wife, and her father readily accepted. It was no matter if her aunt Elia had a say in the matter. Arianne then saw her father sit by the Water Gardens, as he so often did. No, this was not her father's choice. He gave in.

After they arrived in King's Landing, they were met by the Queen and the Kingsguard. It was early, and the city began to rise. By Arianne's side were her cousins, Tyene and Obara, and her uncle Oberyn and his paramour. Arianne wore her green Dornish dress, which permitted ample leg movement and accentuated her large breasts. They waited outside the Keep as guards moved people from the gates.

Her grear-uncle, Ser Lewyn Martell, was first to welcome them. 

"Oberyn, it's been too long," the old man, said patting Oberyn on the back.

"Has it, uncle? You don't look like you aged a day," Oberyn joked.

"Careful, dear brother," Queen Elia butted in, smiling, "Our uncle still has a mighty sting to his blade."

"I wager not as much as I," the Red Viper said with a smirk.

"Arianne, it is good to see you," Elia said, reaching to hug her. The older woman held her long.

"And you as well, Your Grace," Arianne said, practiced and humble.

"Come, let us enter the Keep," Elia told them.

Meeting her family again was enjoyable, even seeing the little brat that was Aegon. Rhaenys was lovable, and she asked Arianne when she would see the Shadow Town again. Aegon stayed a comfortable distance from her and made small talk. Even King Rhaegar, quiet a man as he was, made pleasantries. That left Jon.

The black prince, Rhaegar's son and likely-bastard, the northern blooded start of the rebellion. Arianne had heard he was becoming a famous for his talents in war, but now she would see exactly what her bethrothed was like.

"It is good to finally meet your acquaintance, My Lady," Jon said, lowering his head.

When he raised his head Arianne couldn't help but smirk at him. Jon looked confused and lost. He turned to one of the Kingsguard.

"The Dornish use Princess and Prince as their titles, Jon," he said.

"Right, yes, sorry, my Princess," Jon muttered. "I'm not so well versed in Dornish customs."

He was clearly a fool. But he was pretty. His black hair reached his shoulder and his beard grew better than most men his age. Even his dark eyes, so dark like her own, had something comely about them. He was also tall, mayhaps a foot and a half taller than her.

_He could be useful for something._

With introductions finished, they proceeded with their day until a feast could be held. Tyene and Obara insisted on leaving the Keep to see King's Landing, but Arianne decided to stay, and "get to know her bethrothed."

As she walked through the halls, she found a guard who told her where the young prince's quarters were. Soon she arrived at his room and knocked lightly.

She entered without welcome, finding Jon putting a shirt on. He had scars running down his back and chest, and his muscles looked so strong in the sun's light.

"Ah, Princess," Jon suddenly said, putting his shirt on, "I didn't hear you come in."

"It's no matter," Arianne simply said.

She walked toward his bed and sat down, looking up at him.

Jon stared at her curiously. He folded his arms and looked to be thinking.

"It seems we're to be married," Jon said.

"It seems so," Arianne mimicked. She looked at him intently, sizing him up. She would need to know what made him tick. She stuck her chest out ever slightly, and caught a quick glance from the prince. Like all men he could be so distracted. "It's not every day a prince fumbles so much when he meets his bethrothed. Surely you already knew the proper titles," she said, after learning of his desire.

"Aye," Jon laughed, "I was caught off guard. I usually show less choler."

"Indeed, but may I ask why you were caught unawares?" she asked.

"Well, Princess, I did not expect you to be so beautiful," he said confidently.

Arianne smiled and blushed.

 _Now he's challenging me_.

"Thank you, my prince, I would say the same for you," Arianne responded, a lustful smile across her face. "Now what's say we get to know each other."

 

They talked until the sun went down and the feast had begun. They did not arrive until halfway through, earning them smirks from many a Kingsguard, and Tyene, Obara, and uncle Oberyn.

"What is he like?" Tyene asked as Arianne sat down, "Like you expected?"

"No, he's not," Arianne said, looking back at Jon who had sat down next to Ser Arthur, "Better." Jon was kind, she learned, and quite interested in her culture. More importantly, he said he would always try to be the best husband could.

"What makes you say that?" Obara asked.

"He's agreed to win the tourney for me; thinks it's his lady's wish and so his duty," Arianne stated. It was not hard to convince Jon to join the tourney, and took little more than a few promises to tell him to win. She learned that he was had a penchant for honor, but more for fighting. To win the tourney that was made in their honor; it was a fair thing to ask. But to Arianne, it was also a show of his dedication, and her sway.

"Uncle," she turned to Oberyn, "Could you fight in the tourney as well?" 

"Now why would I do that?" Oberyn asked, "I have yet to even visit the brothel and Ellaria would like to see King's Landing."

"I'm sure she would want to see you fight, wouldn't you Ellaria?" she asked.

Ellaria Sand, her uncle's paramour, always stuck to him. What she wanted would easily sway her uncle.

"You should fight," she said, "I would like to see you carry a spear again."

"Aye, then I will," Oberyn said.

Oberyn Martell was one of the best fighters Arianne knew. She remembered well what he did to Willas Tyrell in the Tourney at Harrenhall. With Oberyn in the joust, her bethrothed would either lose voluntarily, or surely prove his loyalty to her. 

 

The next day, the tourney was played. Arianne and Tyene stayed in the stands with the royal family, while Obara left when no one noticed. She wanted to be a mystery knight and be in the joust, and she would let no one stop her.

Jon wore his black armor, the darkest she had ever seen. 

_He takes his "black prince" moniker quite seriously._

He prepared his horse while a knight of the Kingsguard talked to him. Arianne stared at him until he noticed and looked back at her, smirking. She had learned he was quite charming, if a bit rough and unpracticed. He must've known she was judging him, learning how much she could influence him and get him to fight for her. King's Landing would make anyone unwilling to trust. But Jon smiled and gladly agreed to her proposal to win the tourney; Arianne thought he might have even enjoyed having her try her manipulations. 

But Arianne knew well that even the clever ones fell to her feet just the same.

The first match began: Jon Targaryen versus Loras Tyrell.

 

 _Gods_.

Arianne sat down, shocked. Most in attendance did as well. All were silent.

Jon rode his horse slowly across the courtyard, his lance in hand, and a crown of flowers at its tip.

Arianne looked up and saw Queen Elia, and she was either furious or afraid. Rhaenys simply looked in awe. And Aegon and Rhaegar looked almost as if they expect this.

Suddenly she felt something hit her lap, and she looked down and saw the crown of flowers.

"I name you the Queen of Love and Beauty," Jon said, looking only at her.

Arianne blushed uncontrollably and smiled. And then the crowd cheered.

Jon looked to the crowd and looked proud, if only embarrassedly so. He ducked and rode away.

"Did you see that?!" Tyene asked.

"I did," Arianne said.

Match after match, Jon defeated each of his opponents. Even those that he wasn't _supposed_  to win against. 

As Arianne saw several men rush the yard to pick up the fallen knight, she now knew the man she was dealing with: Proud, angry, especially when given the chance to show it, and damn good in a fight. More importantly, he would go to the seven hells and back to satisfy her wishes. When the helmet of the knight was removed, showing his bloody and lifeless face, that much was clear.

_Aegon be damned. Jon is perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorrrry it took so long. Ideas take away to come together.  
> Next chapter is Jon's Pov. What happened at the tourney? Whose body was that and why did it make everyone shocked? What does Jon think of Arianne?  
> Will be answered soon.  
> Also. Remember: this isn't Jon Snow. This is Kingslander Jon Targaryen, clever and brash, not mindlessly proud.
> 
> Comment please.


	3. Jon's Reward

**Jon**

Jon did not have much time to learn about his bethrothed, nor could he, given that only Aegon and Elia knew her well enough. Instead he spent his time learning about Dorne. The grand maester led him to his Father's library, a new wing in the Red Keep, and one that grew every day.

In his studies he learned about Dorne's openness in all things, even incest and infidelity. He wondered how such a culture could be so successful and not eliminated by the sept and septas. He learned about Dorne's climate and many ecosystems; the Sandy and Salty Dornishmen; the Dornish history of resistance against the crown. The Dornish used the Rhoynar titles of Prince and Princess, and kept the titles to this day.

The land seemed so unconquerable, so impossible to tame. Jon believed the land might skin him alive, that its people would hate him like most southron kingdsoms did. That was until he read _The Conquest of Dorne._ Daeron the First, the Young Dragon, conquered Dorne as a young man, through his wit alone. For a moment, Jon thought a northerner like him could never survive in Dorne unless he was so clever.

Part of him still couldn't believe he was finally bethrothed, much less to a woman he never met. He thought Aegon would marry Margaery first, or that Rhaenys or Daenerys would take a husband before he would a wife. The thought of actually getting married had always been far from his mind, though the prospect of marriage was not. 

Jon remembered a few lords, even southern ones, had paraded their daughters in front of him. As a prince of King's Landing, he knew well to not indulge in their attempts at the crown. Most vividly Jon remembered Myrcella Lannister, a girl of fourteen, attempting to get into his bed. She was sweet and he might have even taken her, but he resisted nonetheless. What made this incident so memorable was that upon his refusal, her mother Cersei offered herself to him instead! He never felt more awkward in his life.

Jon then thought about what married life would be. He knew that most men dreaded getting married, and rightfully so. You would be unable to enjoy any other women. Jon had experience with women, and had quickly come to see why men would shudder to leave their embrace. Jon shook his head.

 _I will not be Aegon_.

Aegon would never stop his whoring, even after his marriage. Jon wouldn't dishonor his future wife in such a way. He would respect her and control himself, like a man should. The Dornish might permit such behavior, but Jon knew if he acted that way, his wife might as well.

Upon ending his studies, Jon wrote letters to Roslin Frey and Dacey Mormont, the women who once held his heart. He needed them to know that any future contact must be chaste and innocent, lest he offend his wife. Halfway through his letter to Dacey, he remembered her long legs around his shoulders, her heavenly smell of berries and forest and sweat. The bearwoman was quite thankful he took Moat Cailin for them. 

She was probably married now, and he would likely be but a happy memory.

At the end of the day Jon spent another dinner with his family. It was more pleasant than usual.

"You will love Arianne, Jon," Elia said, her smile small and her bearing courteous. "She may be a few years older but she's very lovely. Very beautiful as well."

"It's a fine match," Aegon butted in, "and I think you'll get used to the climate. We will miss having you here."

Jon couldn't help but smirk at that.

"I must admit," Rhaenys said, catching Jon's surprise, "I never expected to see you with a Dornishwoman."

Jon looked at her, her Dornish features and olive skin, and looked away. Surely she was not only referring to Princess Arianne. Rhaenys must have been as shaken with the news as he. 

"Aye, I reckon it'll be a chance to learn much," Jon said, trying not to offend his half-sister. 

Even after everything, he still wanted to rekindle their bond.

 

"You must be able to fight more than one man at a time if you wish to survive in Dorne!" Ser Barriston yelled, drawing his sword. "The Dornish won't fight fair."

"Speak for yourself," Ser Arthur responded, standing next to the old man. 

Both men were wearing their armour of the Kingsguard, while Jon was in his Prince's armour. It was at Jon's request that they set up this match. At this point, every new match was Jon's idea. He wouldn't let himself fall in battle.

The thought of taking Ser Barriston the Bold and the Sword of the Morning sounded like suicided, but Jon believed that each men fought like a hundred men in one. Fighting both of them together would be like fighting an army, which many princes before him had fallen to. He would succeed where they failed.

"Ready!" Jon yelled, drawing his sword.

Ser Barriston laughed. "Are you, my prince?" 

Both men charged at Jon, flanking him. He knew not to get cornered, and threw himself to Ser Barriston's side. He swung his blade at the old man, a strike that was immediately countered. Ser Barriston quickly struck Jon in his foot.

Still on his side, Jon shimmied around until he could strike Ser Arthur. The Dornishman seemed to expect it and hit him in his sternum. 

His armour was yet still too strong. Now in between them, Jon executed his plan. At the moment both were about the strike him, he fell and rolled away. The blades of Sers Barriston and Arthur crashed. Both men paused, and laughed.

"Very clever, your grace," Ser Arthur laughed. "Using your opponents against each other."

"I can't say it's the most effective method; but you get credit for creativity," Barriston said, almost shaking his head. Ser Barriston had taken Aegon under his wing, where Ser Arthur had Jon. Nevertheless, both men spent more time training Jon. Aegon was more content in having a suitable knowledge of fighting, than being the best at it.

"So have I won?" Jon asked excitedly, though he knew answer.

"Hardly," Ser Arthur said. "I wasn't fighting with Dawn, and we both struck you before you had us. Mayhaps with more practice."

Jon agreed and they continued their battle. In truth he would miss these men the most, and these moments he would cherish.

 

His Father stood in front of him, tall and unwavering like a king. 

"This is where you'll meet your bethrothed, Jon," King Rhaegar said, firm as always. "Be respectful, know your duty. I shouldn't have to tell you."

"Aye, Your Grace, I will," Jon said.

Then Rhaegar put his hand on Jon's shoulder. "I have thought well about this, son," Rhaegar said, "it is not only politics. I want you to be happy. Try to be, for me, and your mother."

It was an odd show of affection, made moreso by mention of Lyanna. Lyanna Stark had once been in an unhappy bethrothal, and Rhaegar, to his credit, promised he would never do that to his children. 

"I will, Father," Jon said. 

"This is indeed a reward, son," Rhaegar said, "I promise you that."

Rhaegar nodded and walked to the side of Aegon.

Then their guests arrived. Followed by Queen Elia and the Kingsguard, several Dornishmen entered the Keep into the throne room. There was a man with dark hair and venomous eyes; he must've been the viper. Two dornish girls with the same eyes, one wearing a flowing dress and the other boots and a tight dress. And at last there as the princess. 

Jon choked up. She was of dark skin, dark eyes, which contrasted so beautifully with her dress and golden bracelets. She wore a necklace which hung between her breasts. 

 _Gods_.

Her breasts which seemed the most heavenly and perfect that he'd ever seen, with cleavage generously on display. Her waist was small and he believed her could hold it with one hand. She was short, but her legs looked long and her thighs thick. The way she walked was more of a saunter, like a snake easing its way to its prey. 

Of course this had to be the Princess.

Jon felt his cock rise involuntarily. He hadn't even heard someone speak, before he noticed she was already speaking to Aegon. 

Hoping to hide his erection, Jon bowed greater than he should when she came to him.

"It is good to finally meet your acquaintance, My Lady," he said, completely fumbling his introduction.

When he rose, he looked down and saw her smirking. She had the cleverest eyes, and a devious smile.

 

When he returned to his room, Jon tried to recollect his thoughts.

_She thinks me a fool._

Jon knew he had acted like a child growing through puberty, instead of a Prince. Now he desired only to prove his worthiness. He convinced himself he would be more coolheaded. He was only caught off guard.

Now he knew what he was dealing with.

He dressed for the late night feast, in his princely garb.

Then he heard someone enter his room.

He turned and saw it was Princess Arianne. 

She looked as seductive as ever, and Jon got off his bed. He would not be so controlled by his cock.

Strangely, the first thing she did was sit on his bed. Immediately the first thought that came to mind was:

_Oh, she knows exactly what she's doing._

_She saw me fumble so and thinks me a lustful fool. She wants to see if that's true._

For whatever reason, Jon let her believe that, partly.

"I did not expect you to be so beautiful," he said confidently, in response to her question about his earlier behavior.

Arianne smiled and blushed.

_I can play this too._

"Thank you, my prince, I would say the same for you," Arianne responded, a smile across her face. "Now what's say we get to know each other."

"Let's," Jon said, walking to his bed. He sat opposite to her and wondered if she would try to seduce him. "What is your favorite place?"

"The Water Gardens," Arianne answered. "You must visit one day. What do you like to eat?" 

"Care to feed me like a proper wife?" Jon joked, to which Arianne punched his arm. "I'm partial to fish."

"It's good you like the taste," Arianne said.

"Aye," Jon said, "What did you think about our bethrothal?"

"Oh, a direct question," Arianne said, "I hadn't thought much of it, but you are better than my previous options."

"I'm flattered," Jon said.

"Did you really kill all the Kraken's sons?" Arianne asked.

"Two of them fell by my blade; the youngest one fell on it. He thought himself a hero and ran through it when I wasn't looking," Jon answered, solemnly.

"A shame," Arianne responded. 

"I'm sure Victarion will be far wiser than his brothers," Jon said, "not cause such things to happen. Tell me, do all Dornish women dress like you do?"

Arianne looked offended. "Like me? What is that supposed to mean?" 

Jon was quick to correct himself. "So well, I mean. Women in King's Landing dress like septas, the highborn ones at least."

That seemed to work. "Oh," she said, "I can't speak for all of us but we Dornish are known for our good taste."

Jon saw her cross her legs. "Indeed," he said, trying not to stare. "Tell me about your family," he said.

That seemed to change her attitude. Arianne slumped and crossed her arms. "I don't have the most pleasant things to say," she said. "You first."

"Well, Princess," Jon responded, "that we share."

They talked throughout the night, mostly on surface level questions. Their general desires and dislikes, their discontent with their families. Jon noticed that Arianne kept herself closed up to deeper questions as to why and how things were so complicated, so he did the same.

It would be better for them to get to know each other first, after all. In all Jon learned that Arianne was an interesting woman. She was clearly very clever, and quite prone to chiding. But she was a cocky and thought herself more clever than she really was. She was also brash, rebellious, and knew just how attractive she was. And used it.

However, when the question of Jon's mettle came about, he couldn't help himself.

"I reckon I could win that tourney," Jon said, offended.

"Oh you're nowhere as good as you think you are," Arianne said, now laying on his bed. It was already dark out, and she had since removed her shoes.

"I'm serious," Jon said, "Jousting is just a small form of battle on horseback. It's an easy task."

"Please, I've seen men larger than you walk from a tourney with their cocks cut off," Arianne lamented.

Jon was calm in most aspects, at most times. But not when he was being compared with eunuchs who couldn't even survive a joust. "You question my honor," he affirmed.

Arianne was clearly not taking his tone seriously. "I question more than that; I question your balls," she leaned up, looking at him, "Have you the stones to be in a joust, to really fight? This isn't some battlefield where your guards can help you."

"I know I could win," Jon said.

"Fine, war hero," Arianne said, rolling her eyes, "make me the Queen of Love and Beauty, then I'll believe you. I'll even give you a reward."

"You'll reward me with what?" Jon asked.

Then Arianne smiled that lusty smile. She reached down her body and touched the end of her dress, then pulled it up, revealing her perfect, bare cunt, with a light streak of hair barely shown in the moonlight. She looked right into his eyes. "I think you know," she said slowly.

Before Jon could react she got out of his bed and smoothed her dress. "Good luck, your grace," she said before leaving.

Jon stayed still, still trying to believe what had just happened. Then he realized she just played him, perfectly.

 

When he told Ser Arthur he would fight in the tourney, the knight simply agreed. He would fare well enough. 

He donned his black armour, the same his father once used. His horse was readied, along with Ser Arthur's. This made Jon raise his eyebrow.

"What? Doesn't my prince know I fight in tourneys," said the knight with a smile.

That would make things more difficult. In all Jon knew he was up against tough opponents. Ser Arthur and Gregor Clegane would be hard enough to beat, but there was also Loras Tyrell, Garlan Tyrell, Lyn Corbray, and Sandor Clegane.

When the first match was held, he was against Loras. A decent fighter he knew, but not as much as his brother. Jon looked up saw Arianne in the stands. He would show her, and win her _gifts_. The began and Jon rushed the field. His lance was heavy, but when he charged her was almost near the Knight of Flowers. Then turned and began the charge again.

He charged and was about to hit Loras' armour when his horse threw him off of his mount. He could not explain why, but Jon was now on his back.

Jon quickly got up and drew his sword. Loras did as well and the true battle began. As skilled as Loras was, Jon was better. He was on the ground in no time.

"Victor! Prince Jon!" the game master called out.

_One at a time._

Jon left the field and watched a few matches go by, and got a different horse. Ser Arthur unseated the Mountain, a mystery knight took out his brother, and Jon faced Garlan Tyrell. Luckily the man was so enraged by his brother's loss, he was too distracted to realize Jon struck his shield hard enough to break it and fell him from his horse.

His next match was against a mystery knight, likely some fool thinking himself a new Ser Barriston. Jon charged, with lances out. In the end both men fell from their horses. Then the battle began.  Strangely, on the knight's back he drew a spear instead of a blade. The knight jabbed at Jon and he threw himself out of the way. He did not know how to fight against spears so well.

On the second strike Jon found himself about to strike when the King stopped the battle. 

"Wait! Knight, remove your mask!" Rhaegar yelled, his voice carrying through the stands. 

The knight paused and reluctantly removed his helmet. It was Obara Sand to Jon's surprise, the Queen's niece. The surprise was registered by the audience as well. Obara looked terribly unhappy that the fight was over. She was about to walk off when Rhaegar yelled for her to stop.

"You wish to fight? Remove your armour," he said, "I know you prefer greater freedom to move."

The surprise was registered even greater in the audience and Obara excitedly removed her armour. 

_So I'll have to fight a girl._

Jon then looked to Obara, the Dornish girl he with hard look on her face.

 _*If she's gotten this far, she ought to be a challenge. She reminds me of Dacey_.*

At that the battle began again. Obara stabbed at him and used his slow motion against him. It was all Jon could do to stay out of her reach.

He attempted several strikes, each met with her spear. He wouldn't catch her that way. Finally he decided to take a risk and grabbed the end of her blade. No one was expecting an act so stupid, but armour counted for something, and now Jon had the advantage.

He pulled her spear back and placed his blade to her neck. It was a stupid move, but he didn't need to kill her. Just win.

"Victor! The Prince!" he heard.

Jon dropped his blade and left quickly. Obara was clearly fuming at his _unorthodox_ way of ending the fight, and now he knew another woman who could take him in a fight.

Ser Arthur and Oberyn jousted until both men were tired and groggy. By the end both simply gave up and left the match. None questioned them on it; they'd gone at it for what felt like the whole the day. Jon knew Ser Arthur could beat Oberyn in a straight sword fight, but Oberyn was too clever to be unseated, and took his time.

The final match was against Lyn Corbray, a Valeman, and grand fighter. And if the rumors were true, a lover of young boys. Jon, however, knew they were true, according to the spymaster. What was most difficult was his skill with his Valyrian steel sword. Jon knew that such a sword made a man thrice better in battle.

Before the match began, Jon asked Ser Arthur for his sword, hoping for an advantage. The Sword of the Morning said no, telling him to find another way.

Frustrated, Jon went to his next match. Corbray was clearly hoping to see his fight with swords instead of lances, as his Valyrian steel sword shined beautifully.

When the match began, Jon and Lyn charged at eachother, lances at the ready. The charged several times, Lyn almost pushing Jon off his horse. In less than a two seconds they were on the ground. Jon, however, had landed on his back, where Lyn had rolled to his knees. The vale knight rose and smiled, his weapon drawn. 

Lyn walked over to Jon and struck at his armour, slicing through it. Then he kicked Jon on the back before he could get up, and struck his sword down, almost fast enough that Jon barely rolled away in time.

"I must say I didn't expect to see Rhaegar's bastard so easily defeated," Lyn said, "Now do you yie-"

Jon quickly drew his sword and spun, slicing the knight right threw his neck. Jon stopped and saw blood dripping from the opening. 

Blood also dripped on the milky-colored sword in his hands. Jon hadn't expected it to work so well. 

 _I suppose this is why Ser Arthur didn't want me to use Dawn_.

He then noticed that the crowd was silent. Jon saw at Lyn drop from his feet and gargle, and suddenly stop.

Feelings of mortality plagued him until he remembered his place, until he remembered what Lyn did to young children. He did not feel bad.

Jon rose and walked to Ser Arthur, and handed him Dawn. 

"Forgive me, Ser," he apologized and left. 

He had to crown his Queen.

When he placed the flower crown in her lap, Jon heard the crowd cheer. For a moment, Jon felt like he belonged. 

 

It was in the night that Jon changed into his sleepwear, his thoughts on battle and  his upcoming wedding. Then entered Arianne Martell. Jon immediately stood up.

She was wearing a wearing white gown, one that was almost see-through, her large breasts begging to be free, her nipples hard and large and dark. Jon looked down and saw that she had nothing under it. He tried not to breathe too loudly.

"You've won, Your Grace," she whispered sultrily. "I am impressed, very impressed. Now you may claim your prize. I figure all men want their wedding night early."

Jon looked down at her, the temptress that had so recently came into his life. The one that he would have to spend the rest of his life with. She walked up to him, and he felt his erection touch her stomach.

At that moment Jon smiled and finally knew what his father meant when he said he got his reward. He also knew that she was more than happy he had all gone all out in his match for her, at her suggestion. 

He remembered Cersei Lannister, who tried to use him with her cunt. All these women would do the same, even his bethrothed. And Jon would not accept being under someone's heel.

Arianne reached under his breeches and grabbed his cock, stroking it.

"It's so big, and all for me?" she asked innocently.

Jon shuddered and picked her up, making Arianne squeal. Instead of taking her to his bed, he took her outside of his room and left her there.

"I'm afraid we'll have to wait for the bedding ceremony," Jon said, "I'm sure you can take care of yourself until then."

Arianne looked at him with wide eyes, surprised and offended.

"Hey!" she yelled before he closed the door, leaving her knocking and trashing and yelling. 

Jon looked down at his still hard length and huffed. 

 _I'll have to take care of myself as well_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll fix the grammar later. Next chapter is a FRUSTRATED ARIANNE and a meeting with Rhaegar.


	4. On rebellion

**Arianne**  

Seeing Prince Jon joust was so exhilarating to her. He was so brash and strong, and she loved to see him remove his helmet when he finished a match, his black hair flowing, his subtle smile and joy in victory. 

Then she saw him take out Corbray. It made her so wet. Whether Jon had won their bet mattered not; she wanted him, and she would have him.

After the match, she told Obara and Tyene of her intentions. They sat on the bed while Arianne was removing her dress.

"The boy cheated, grabbed my damn spear before I could stake him," Obara lamented. She had that eternal look of a pout and an eyeroll. 

"He did agree to fight you; most of these northerners would never fight a woman in an open match. They prefer to see them defenseless in a bed," Tyene said. "I saw how you fought him. Tell me you didn't love it," Tyene teased, touching her light blonde hair. 

"He should just try that while we're back in Dorne," Obara said, not giving in.

"Oh yes," Arianne realized, finally removing her smallclothes, leaving her naked in front of her cousins. Neither of them batted an eyelash. "He will be living with us at Sunspear." Arianne smiled brightly, to which Tyene replied in kind.

"Tell us how good he is in bed," Tyene said, "we could take him together."

"I have confidence in my bethrothed," Arianne said, reaching for her thin gown and pulling it on, "I have learned not to underestimate him."

 

While moonlight shone through the windows of the Red Keep, Arianne walked toward the bedroom of Prince Jon. She thought about his strong chest on top of hers and how his scruff might feel against her skin.

She knocked on his door and he opened it. Jon stood there in his nightwear, surprised and clearly erect. 

_This is too easy._

Arianne stuck out her chest and licked her lips. "You've won, Your Grace," she whispered. "I am impressed, very impressed. Now you may claim your prize. I figure all men want their wedding night early."

His cocked rose even higher and she had to feel it. Without a second thought she reached into his pants and grabbed his cock. She stroked his length and Arianne moaned in joy.

 _Now this is a man who can be my husband_.

"It's so big and hard, and all for me," she moaned.

Suddenly Jon grabbed her and picked her up, making her squeal happily. He also grabbed a handful of her large arse. But then he took her outside his room and left her there. 

"I'm afraid we'll have to wait for the bedding ceremony," Jon said quickly, "Take care yourself until then."

Her eyes opened wide. "Hey!" she yelled. He closed his door and she banged on it. She was horny and willing, and he was denying her!

_Stupid, brash, fucking-!_

Arianne Martell was fuming. She left and walked to her room and slammed the door, surely alerting some guards in the night. 

_That boy thinks he has the right to deny me?!_

Not since Aegon denied her advances had she been so embarrassed, so humiliated. 

Arianne heard a knock on the door. She realized she was pacing and stopped. "Who's there?" she asked, venom still on her lips.

"It's Tyene," she heard, and Tyene opened the door. She was in her own gown and what look like loose breeches. "I must admit I didn't expect to see you here tonight. And certainly not throwing a fit and closing doors so aggressively." Tyene said.

"Hmm," Arianne pouted, dejected, "Fucking boy denied me. Said we had to wait for the bedding ceremony and to 'take care of myself.' "

Tyene giggled. "It looks like your bethrothed has more resilience than you believed. I can't remember the last boy to deny your advances," Tyene reminisced. "You know these Kingslanders; it's all politics and subterfuge for them. He likely believed he couldn't _allow himself_  to accept you so readily. It would show he's susceptible."

"He thinks he can decide; he won the tourney and now he's cocky, believes he can deny me and get away with it," Arianne said. Then she sat on her bed, and slowly a smile creeped onto her face.

"I know that look," Tyene said, "What are you planning?"

"His Grace wants to deny his bethrothed even when she's throwing herself at him," Arianne said wistfully, "He'll see; I'll give him something he can't resist."

 

 **Jon**  

_"Your cock is so big, your grace," Arianne whispered, bringing her face ever closer to it. "May I please suck on it?"_

Jon groaned and he pumped his length faster and faster. He had denied the princess's advances; now he had to deal with the consequences. Unfortunately the only erotic thoughts that came to his mind were of his beautiful, tempting bethrothed.

She was beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her body always posed in an attractive fashion, and Jon kept thinking he had made a mistake in not taking her right there. 

Jon pumped faster, thinking about how he picked her up.

_Her arse. Her big, fat arse._

When Jon had picked her up, he grabbed her thin waist and her arse. It felt so good in his hands, and now he couldn't stop thinking about it. 

Jon tried to think of other women: of Dacey bending over his bed, of Roslin opening her legs for him, of Myrcella naked on her knees. Still, his mind always turned back to the Dornish girl.

_That woman thinks she can control me. That she'll have some sort of power over me. I will not let that happen._

Then Jon realized he was jerking off to the thought of her. He huffed. He did not know his bethrothed very well, and the cautionary part of his mind did not like her. She was pleasant and clever, but far too arrogant for her own good. Jon admitted that she was terribly tempting, and soon he would have to bed her - if he didn't explode from the pressure - but he would not to let it control him. 

He won today, even if he was left alone with his cock in his hand. She would see that he couldn't be controlled so easily.

Jon took his cock in hand and finished himself, imagining Arianne covered in his seed from head to toe. He felt winded afterward, and decided to have large breakfast the next day. He needed to fight more, and focus on her less. Then there was the matter of Corbray's sword.

 

**Margaery**

 

"The Prince will want to see you as beautiful as you can be, sweetling," Olenna Tyrell said, watching her granddaughter have her makeup put on and dress smoothed.

"Yes, Grandmother," Margaery responded. 

They were in the Red Keep, in their guest apartments. Margaery's brown locks were curled, as it was said was Prince Aegon's preference. The Rose of Highgarden was being prepared for her first meeting with the crown prince. All her life she had been prepared for this moment; from lectures by her father, lessons in gracefulness by her mother, and lessons in cunning by her grandmother, she was ready.

Margaery knew of Aegon's tastes and tendencies. He was rather bookish and brash, having been taught by his father the King. He took interest in fighting, but had more focus on delegating and ruling. He would never be Maeker I, but he was outspoken enough to not be Daeron the Good. He would be a great king, once Margaery could whisper in his ear. A Queen had her purpose after all, and she would not be a broodmare.

What worried her most were the rumors of his other activities. The northern kingdoms still had misgivings about the Targaryens and likely spread those rumors, but the Tyrells were aware that that there was truth in them. Whether Aegon was a lecher did concern Margaery, but she was to be married soon. She would end any such activities. Some queens tolerated their kings having mistresses, but she was a Tyrell. She would not accept such disrespect, nor would she allow any bastards at her court.

"His Grace will be fortunate, my dear," her grandmother, "he should know that. Put your hand out." Margaery obeyed and Lady Olenna took her hand. "This is for our House, your family. Serve us well, sweetling, and never accept anything less than what you deserve. There will come a time when you are my age, and you should not wonder whether you made any mistakes."

Margaery stared long into her grandmother's eyes. She understood. Of course she and the rest of her family were using her for political gain, but they loved her. They were doing this for her.

"Thank you, Grandmother," Margaery said. 

"My lady, if you could move your head up," Talla Tarly, her handmaiden, said. 

Margaery moved her head and Talla placed around her neck a small emerald necklace; it was beautiful, and drew attention to her breasts. It was not too flashy, and not too slutty, but just what a prince would want. 

"Grandmother, if I may speak first with the King," Margaery began.

"Oh we've gone over this," Olenna said, upset, "Just because his uncle broke our bethrothal means nothing to me. I left him anyway, damned boy-lover."

"Hmm, ok," Margaery accepted.

"Don't whine," Olenna said, "It's not dignified."

 

"Lady Margaery, It's good to finally have you here," King Rhaegar said. He was tall, his hair tucked back. He didn't smile, but didn't frown. He was perfectly kingly.

"Your Grace, thank you for inviting us into your home," Margaery replied, giving a proper curtsy. She stood next to her Father, Mother, brother and Grandmother, each wearing on their clothes a flower, the sigil of their House. They were in the throne room, alongside the royal family.

"It will become your home soon enough, should you decide to remain in the city. We have not yet established who will get what; it will be settled after Jon's marriage," Rhaegar said.

Jon Targaryen, the King's bastard son, born of savage northerners. Margaery had taken notice that the aforementioned son was not here, whether due to another engagement or out of respect to her family, she did not know. 

When it was announced that Margaery would formally meet her bethrothed after his brother's wedding, she was surprised. The northern bastard would be consort to the princess of Dorne; the princess was one of the best matches the realm good dream of, except for Margaery herself. Then it made sense; a position as a consort was undoubtedly preferable to giving the black prince any real title.

"Yes, Your Grace," Margaery said, before she caught the eye of the crown prince.

He was just as handsome as she remembered. They were children when they last met, and now she could fully appreciate her bethrothed. His silver hair was long and straight, and his lips were pursed in a genial smile, a more jovial version of his father.

"My Lady, it is grand to see you again," Aegon said, kissing her hand.

Margaery blushed and pretended to act terribly flattered. "Thank you, Your Grace," she said.

 

Their meeting was fair and gentle. Aegon didn't touch her or grope her as her friends worried about; he was rather kind and soft spoken. He was kind to her grandmother and praised her wit, and admired her father's military talent. He even spoke about the bravery of Lady Hightower's brother at the Stoney Sept. At one point he looked at her breasts, which gave her incentive to continue working him. Still, despite all of Margaery's attempts to crack him, to get him to spill a secret or reveal anything vulnerable or personal, Aegon was mum. 

Most he laughed off or didn't speak about. It had to be cautiousness, or nervousness. Most likely the former. Nevertheless, a soon-to-be princess knew what she had to do.

At the day's end she went to his quarters. She knocked and received no reply, and she entered the room.

As soon as she entered she saw Aegon Targaryen's pale white butt pumping into a young girl who was moaning profusely. Margaery's eyes opened wide and she saw three or four girls on the bed with him, and like him, they were entirely naked. She did not know what to do. So she screamed. "Aegon!" she screamed, out of either fury or surprise, or both.

Immediately Aegon turned around and had a look of surpise on his face. He was about to speak, but then Margaery ran out of the door and closed it. She closed her eyes and prayed. 

She breathed heavily, in disappointment, in frustration, in anger.

_I will put a stop to this. No husband of mine will embarrass me-_

_._

_._

_._

_Gods. Why me?_

 

 

**Varys**

 

The small council meeting was held off until Lord Mace Tyrell could join as a guest advisor. As the father of the future princess of Westeros, it was respectful to do him such a kindness, and His Grace was careful about showing respect and courtesy to his vassals.

Now they could discuss the rising issue of the King's second son. Lords Redwyne, Tyrell, Dondarrion, Tarly, Varys and Pycelle sat around the table, while the King and his Hand sat opposite to them. Ser Barriston stood by the corner, ever on guard.

"I thought we settled this!" Lord Redwyne called out. "Jon Targaryen goes to Dorne and leaves the kingdoms in peace. What more has happened?"

"You know as well as I that the prince's demonstration during the tourney two days past have caused a stir in the kingdoms," Lord Dondarrion replied. "Come Paxtor, tell me you haven't heard of the black prince whose sword swings faster than his brother's, that you haven't heard the phrase "Black Dragon"."

"Nonsense," Lord Redwyne said, "Everyone knows that the second son will never come close to the throne. He'll be in Dorne in a fortnight, and we shan't hear from him again."

"Prince Doran and I spoke at length," King Rhaegar mentioned, "He still has a watchful eye."

"Your Grace," Mace Tyrell chimed in, "There is still the issue of where my daughter shall go after Martell's wedding. Much must be done to quell these rumors of disorganization, of discontent and disfunction. And the stormlands are still divided, volatile."

"If I may add," Lord Tarly started, "Since the Greyjoy rebellion, the Riverlands have seen the kingdoms as unprepared, or uncaring, with only Jon Targaryen willing to act. And there are yet those who believe even Viserys covets the throne, as he has not returned to Dragonstone in many years."

King Rhaegar looked to be contemplating. He turned to Lord Tarly. "What do you propose?" Rhaegar asked.

"We wed your children immediately, to houses which could gain us strength. I'm aware of your... distaste for unhappy bethrothals, but it would be better to secure the realm. No loose ends, no wayward sons or brothers."

"Fine," King Rhaegar said, "it shall be done. Now what of these new rumors?" he turned to Varys.

"Your Grace, it seems that the son of Lyanna Stark is now gaining popularity among the Westerlands. Though the Lannisters may outwardly dislike the young prince, Lord Tywin is allowing such talk, primarily as a motivation to wed one of his grandchildren to yours."

"Tywin," Rhaegar spat in disgust, "the man has been trying to wed his family to mine since I was a child. I doubt he would ever support a northern-born son, but I see his reason. I thought after Cersei married her cousin, he would be content to stay away."

"That is not all, Your Grace," Varys spoke, more urgency in his voice, "we have received word from Lord Corbray."

"Is he crossed with Jon for killing his brother? Demanding payment?" Lord Connington asked.

"Much worse," Pycelle chimed in, "the raven he sent came with dark words, I believe." Pycelle rose and showed that he had the message. He looked closely at the message, taking his time as he would in his old-man routine. "He praised the prince for, and I quote, "Finally dealing with my miscreant brother, who had been a thorn in my side, and that of the Vale and the Fingers, since he inappropriately received our family sword, Lady Forlorn. I would like to formally thank Prince Jon Targaryen, the Black Prince, the Kraken-Killer, and savior of the realm, for graciously returning Lady Forlorn to my possession. For such an act, and his military accomplishments, he personally shall receive any and all accommodations and service from House Corbray. Unfortunately, I will be unable to attend His Grace's wedding, as I will be attending that of my Lord's daughter, Ysilla Royce, and Robb of the House Stark"."

The room was silent, deathly silent. Everyone knew what it meant. The Starks were gaining allies, furthering ties. Now they would have a grander problem on their hands than the exploits of the black prince.

"Your Grace," Pycelle said, putting the letter down, "if I might speak so boldly, the Starks must the punished. The Riverlands must be punished. As must the Vale and the Stormlands. Damned if the Baratheons and Arryns have no power; we must eliminate this problem now. We cannot allow them any more sway than they have."

"You'd have me further divide the kingdoms," Rhaegar said, "After years of trying to rebuild it."

"De-legitimize him," Lord Randyll said, and every turned to him. Lord Connington had a look of concern. "De-legitimize him and we lose any threat of rebellion. The boy's the poster child of all northern anger, and we can end it with a pen stroke."

King Rhaegar looked at Lord Randyll with a stoic expression. Varys knew that was when he was most furious. 

"Everyone leave, including you, Ser Barriston," King Rhaegar said firmly, hinting at no emotion. "Ser Randyll and I must talk."

Varys and the rest of the men walked out, each partly concerned or furious. Some more of the other. Many a lord did not see Jon as a true Targaryen, and surely many agreed with Lord Tarly. But Varys knew when not to argue with the King, as did everyone else.

As he walked back to his solar Varys reminded himself to check on his little birds, and ensure he had a steady supply of information from the North, Dorne and Pentos. The realm was peaceful now, but all felt a sense of unease, a sense that the slightest insult would start another war. Varys knew that Jon Targaryen could take the throne if he wanted to; he had the power and the reputation, and as rumors of prince Aegon's unfittedness for the crown would surely grow, Varys did worry about the future. All that kept the kingdoms in line was the King's planning, his methodical nature, one that still felt too much sympathy for his own family. 

Varys would prepare for all outcomes, and keep a watchful eye on the kingdoms. It was more than easy to convince the young prince of Corbray's lechery, and easier still to bribe the gamekeeper of the tourney. The result was acceptable whether he won or not.

As the sun fell away from King's Landing, Varys thought of the second son of King Rhaegar Targaryen. He was warrior through and through, a man men respected; but he was still but a boy, full of fury and choler. Varys could not influence him, nor would he try. From what he gathered, Jon respected his family because of his love for his long-dead mother, and did not consider rebellion.

Varys sighed. 

_The fate of the kingdoms will depend on his choice, and that of his brother. Let us hope that no one can make the black prince change his mind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding is coming up, and everyone except the North will be there. Jon will meet the Sand Snakes and we'll see Daenerys and Rhaella. 
> 
> And an unexpected guest, and an unexpected problem. It will be Arianne's motivation, and her dream.
> 
> Can anyone draw fan art? I have some ideas. Leave comment and we'll message.


	5. Ruminations of the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter exists only to give context. I'll try to post Arianne/Jon chapters soon.  
> I have a tumblr. Hit me up you if you have story ideas or ideas for stories:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/spookychopshopmiracle

 

 

 **Rhaegar**  

 

_And so the kingdoms continue at their pace, ever waiting to find their time to strike._

King Rhaegar Targaryen, First of his Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, sat the Iron Throne. His crown atop his head, the crown of Aegon the Third, a simple golden band. His expression was one of practiced stoicism, combined with his own melancholy. Before he had taken the crown, he remembered, he was but a sad boy, obsessed with prophecy and driven by his dreams.

Rhaegar believed that his silver-blonde hair had begun to grow grey, though he would probably never notice. It had been long since he last descended from his place at King's Landing. Since his father's murder, he was determined to be a better king at all costs, with sacrifices to his health, and his dreams, if need be. No longer would the kingdoms rest on the whims of a madman driven by the whispers in his head, nor a passion that became fury, nor the choler of lesser men. His mother would never see the torment his father unleashed on her again. 

In childhood, Rhaegar knew he would one day take the throne. He read all the histories, and knew that every king found one whose example to follow. If there was one king he sought to model himself after, it was Jaehaerys the Conciliator. Rhaegar's reign began in war, and rebellion. To bring the kingdoms together, he had to aspire to mend old tensions, and be slow to wrath.

Rhaegar looked down below him, past the jagged and blackened blades, to the figure of Lord Celtigar. The man was requesting men to collect taxes at Crackclaw Point. The fool didn't seem realize the inhabitants were never keen to obey their liege lords.

"Lord Connington will send give you twenty good men to sail to Crackclaw Point," Rhaegar said, "Be mindful not to insult the men, and remind them that the King demands their payment."

"Ye-yes, Your Grace," Lord Celtigar said, before bowing and ducking away.

Despite the hours he had spent on the throne, Rhaegar did not wince or lean back. The king had to have an image of strength; such was what the kingdoms needed. Rhaegar touched the arms of the throne and looked to the jagged blade inches from his hand. Even after three centuries Aegon's warning spoke to the kings of Westeros.

_Do not be comfortable in your reign. Your actions may end your reign, or your son's._

Rhaegar looked back on the meeting he had with Lord Randyll. The man damn near had himself removed from the council. Military experience or not, he insulted a prince of the blood.

_My son!_

Rhaegar lowered his head. When the council first warned him of Jon's growing popularity among the northmen, Rhaegar dismissed them. One need not fear an honorable man. When they warned him of the consequences of Aegon's unpopular reputation, he rebuked them. His firstborn son was not a fool, nor had he any bastards. When Rhaegar received a letter from Eddard Stark, he could deny them no longer.

It was briefly after the Greyjoy rebellion, a disorganized and badly planned war, given the discontent between the attacked kingdoms. Lord Stark sent his damning letter. 

It was a cold morning when Maester Pycelle showed him that letter, the coldest morning Rhaegar could remember. To the King of the Seven Kingdoms, the letter started, 

_*I have served the North faithfully as brother of the late Lord Brandon Stark. I fought in defense of my sister, the Queen. I have always done my duty, but now I must question it. *_

_*Many moons past, I wrote to His Grace, informing him of the iron fleets, their march on our lands, and the kidnapping of my wife. His Grace knew personally of this, and yet only sent the meagerest force to us. By the Gods, we are fortunate Lyanna's son was brave enough to defend his people despite what little force was given to him. I met him briefly, on the front. He looks more like Brandon than you, I am certain.*_

_*Now my wife is dead, and my infant son and his siblings are in mourning. Had you listened to my letters instead of letting your son insult us, she would be alive! *_

_*His Grace should know I have never gone back on my duty, or wished to abandon my honour. I do not write this letter without reluctance. But now my sister and my wife are buried, by the arrogance and negligence of dragons. My father and brother are dead, by the madness of dragons. *_

_*I refuse to let this continue. As Warden of the North, and the Protector of MY people, I refuse to play this game any longer.  Know that my people have asked for a more damning response, but I will be simple and clear.*_

_*I rebelled against you once. That I have never denied, nor have I apologized. My sister was taken from me, and for your sake, be thankful she ended our quarrel. I never liked the thought of her in King's Landing, and in time even she could not last in that pit of snakes. But worry not, for I see the sacrifice my sister has done for us, and I see benefit of her marriage to you. You see, Your Grace, the next insult we face will not be faced with rebellion. We already have a **Wolf**  to replace you_.*

So much for conciliation. After that letter Rhaegar could no longer deny the intentions of the northman. For the Quiet Wolf to write the grandest, and most treasonous letter he had ever read, meant that Rhaegar had to act carefully. Had Eddard Stark been more patient, Rhaegar could explain that he never received any letter of Lady Catelyn's kidnapping, that he did all he could with what he knew. Had Rhaegar been more attentive, he would have warned Aegon against openly insulting men of the North.

But now Eddard's wife was dead, and Rhaegar knew that made him immune to any attempt to reconcile their differences.

_Lyanna, my love, if only you were here._

Rhaegar allowed his expression to fall as he remembered his lost love. Had she been there, she would have ended this madness. Always the spitfire, Lyanna Stark was the most powerful force in Rhaegar's life until her death, and in many ways, she remained so. 

It was Lyanna who settled the tensions caused by Robert's rebellion. It was she who calmed her brother and brought the kingdoms together in their tentative union.

Jon had so much of her, so much of her spirit, and her fury. Rhaegar loved his son, ever treating him with respect and the love, as much as a king could give. He was proud of his accomplishments on the battlefield, and thought he would make the greatest knight. Rhaegar did not want to think anything bad about his son, for his love, and for Lyanna's memory. 

But Rhaegar could not deny his son's solemnness, or his rage. After Lyanna left after Jon's sixth name day, his son turned inward, rarely laughing and never smiling. Instead he turned to fighting, and became obsessed with winning; even when he failed, he simply trained harder until he could win again. Rhaegar believed it a normal response, and allowed Ser Arthur to squire him. Yet Jon was never as restricted by honour; stealing Dayne's sword was evident of that.

 _I can already hear the songs about that damned tourney_.

He and Aegon watched Jon fight exactly as they expected, and while Corbray's death raised an eyebrow, he knew well that it may have happened. Aegon was aware of his brother's prowess; Gods help him if he didn't. And Rhaegar knew of his brazenness in battle. It was Jon's idea to poor burning oil and wood on the ironborn at Riverrun, Dayne had told him. It was surely an effective method, and it sent a message: this prince shall not surrender, and fear his will.

But Jon did not hate his brother, and Aegon did not either. But then again, Daemon never hated Daeron, yet rebellion occurred anyway. Rhaegar had to be proactive, get his son away from any dangerous influences, before he could be turned against his brother, against his family. He could have given him Summerhall, but the place still held ghosts, and the Stormlands were too volatile. Dorne was the best option, with a beautiful young wife. Jon would be happy and watched, under Elia's brother. 

"My Lord," Pycelle called out, "the crown prince has arrived."

"Send him to my solar," Rhaegar said, descending from his seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a tumblr. Hit me up you if you have story ideas or ideas for stories:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/spookychopshopmiracle


	6. Puppet Show

 

**Jon**

 

 

In less than a week he would be married. It was surreal, yet Jon could not help but feel an odd calmness in it all. He stared at the Iron Throne, having stopped to stare between training. It always surprised him how large it was. Suddenly, he heard a feminine voice, with a matching voice to his side.

 

"Do you want to play?" Arianne asked. She stared at him with an unreadable expression, and approached him.

 

"What?" Jon asked. They were in the throne room, alone, and their loneliness to Jon was ever more obvious. Since he had denied her, he prepared himself, ready for her anger, or her continued seduction. Jumping him when he stood in the middle of the throne room though, that he had not prepared for.

 

"Do you want to play?" she asked again, this time slower. Jon couldn't help but wonder what she was insinuating.

 

"Princess, I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific," Jon said. Arianne walked closer to him, and he tried not to look down at her breasts. Her blue dress reached barely down to her knees, and it flowed freely and loosely.

 

"Last night: I know you probably thought my actions a bit rushed. I'd tell you that you were being silly but I know when to stop," she said. "If you're certain about waiting, my dearest bethrothed, we may as well continuing our courting."

 

"Courting?" Jon asked, and he smirked.

 

"Aye," she said with an equal smile, "I enjoy riding. I don't believe you've been on a sand steed before."

 

Jon looked down at the woman before him. As uncertain as he was of her intentions, he ought to respect his bethrothed. "The kingswood," he said, "We can ride there."

 

"Then let's depart," she said, then she turned and walked to the nearest exit, "and I'm very serious, my Prince, I am the best rider you have ever seen."

 

 

 

She was not lying. In the hours they'd been in the Kingswood, Arianne had controlled her sand steed with more oplomb and poise than he had ever seen, all while she rode without a saddle. Compared to her, he was an amateur.

 

"Race, Jon!" she called out, "We have to race." The laughing in her voice had been so strong as of late. Clearly Jon found one of her passions.

 

"Again?" Jon asked, "You've already beaten me five times. I don't think Jaenys here can take it."

 

He pointed to his dark-colored horse. Arianne rode to him swiftly and stopped immediately before him.

 

"For the last time her name is Morella," Arianne said, petting her own horse. "Come on, one more time."

 

"Arianne," Jon deadpanned.

 

"Oh fine, I suppose our dear prince here is afraid of his little bethrothed," Arianne japed, and turned her head to the side. Now that did it.

 

"Fine, where are we racing," Jon asked lowly.

 

Arianne's smiled grew and she pointed to an open path in the forest. "There, that's where we'll start" she said, "First one to reach the bottom of the hill wins."

 

Jon agreed and they went to their starting point. He couldn't help but notice how excited Arianne was to race. Her smile was huge and childish, and she looked so ready to take off. She really loved it. It was actually endearing.

 

"Ready," she said, and paused. "Go!"

 

Immediately they both took off. Arianne quickly got an advantage an got ahead of him. Her thick black hair was flowing behind her and Jon did his best to catch up. 

 

"Come on, loser!" she yelled.

 

"Just wait!" Jon replied, "I'll be in front of you yet."

 

Arianne laughed loudly and continued beating him. She got ahead of him and was about to reach the end of the hill. She rode on a green pasture, and looked so graceful.

 

Then she fell from her horse. His heart raced. Falling from a horse had been a well known cause of death. Immediately he stopped and got off of Jaenys and went to Arianne.

 

Jon ran and knelt by her. "Arianne!" he called out, to no response. He felt her shoulders and leaned in to her if she was breathing.

 

At that moment he felt hands on her cheeks and Arianne's lips on his. Too surprised to move, Jon was turned on his back and Arianne mounted him. Her tongue captured his own and she moaned heavily into his mouth. Caught between surprise and excitement, Jon didn't know what to do.

 

Arianne moved her hands to his abs and she touched him vigorously. Finally, Jon grabbed her torso and pushed her back. She looked down at him with a devious smile.

 

"You're wicked," he said.

 

"Tell me you didn't want it," she said, then she made her voice high and sing-song "Oh, my hero, come to save the fair maiden who's fallen from her horse." She chuckled. "Please," she said, "you've been eyeing me all day. I simply gave you a reason to act on your desire."

 

"Believe it or not, I hadn't even considered it," he said.

 

"Jon, I can feel your bulge against my cunt," she stated simply. 

 

Jon sighed and looked up at the girl who captured him. She was beautiful, so very beautiful, dangerously beautiful. Any prince knew that those words always spelt disaster.

 

"Such things a man can't help," Jon said, "And you're not wearing smallclothes."

 

"No," she said sultrily, "I prefer to feel free, in the wind. And if I can lure my bethrothed, all the better." She felt up his chest and grabbed his hand quickly and put it under her dress. With the left hand she raised her dress and made him stroke her with her right. Arianne closed her eyes and moaned in the girliest way, and Jon grew harder.

 

"I know you want to feel my cunt," she moaned, "do you like it?"

 

_This woman is going to kill me._

 

Jon wondered how to get out of this situation. Then he looked down at Arianne's perfect cunt, and couldn't help but stroke it more. The sounds she made were delicious.

 

She leaned down and put her head on his shoulder. "Oh, fuck, you're so good, your grace," she moaned.

 

Then Jon remembered that he was a prince of the blood, and he was being captured by a small girl and being made to pleasure her, like a pubescent teenager. He remembered that he was being used. This would be the beginning of her control over him, and if she could do it once, she would never stop. At that moment he removed his fingers and turned her around quickly. He got up and went to his horse.

 

"What the fuck!?" Arianne cried out, "I thought we were passed this shit." She was still on her back. 

 

"Princess," Jon said, "It wouldn't do for the smallfolk to see their Prince in such a position. Besides, you wouldn't want to spoil our wedding night, would you?"

 

Arianne's mouth opened wide and she got up angrily. Jon got on his horse and she followed him. Now he would see that famous Dornish fury.

 

 

 

**Arianne**

 

Ever since their encounter in the Kingswood, Arianne pursued ever clever and subtle means to get Jon to give up his damned goal not to touch her.

 

After the Kingswood, she went to Tyene, who always gave her good advice. After much taunting, she told Arianne to wear on the prince's many traits. Every man had something they couldn't resist, and every man had a breaking point. She wore ever short dresses around him. She demanded they continue courting, and continued flirting. To her surprise, Jon didn't accept her offer to have Obara and Tyene join him in the bed. Apparently, "I like my cousins well, you will too" was not an appealing offer to his grace.

 

Still, Arianne knew it was more fun than frustrating, flirting with Jon. The process of tempting a man, getting him to forget his place and his obligations, was one she knew well. But now it would not be the man's wife nor his honor she would make him forsake; now she would get make a prince bend to her will. At times Jon seemed close to breaking, but then resisted, like he simply wished to frustrate her more. Still, it was enjoyable being with him. Beyond the dark and broody persona was a lovable man.

 

"And where even is Norvos?" Jon asked yesterday as they walked through town in disguise.

 

"It's more inland that Pentos," she answered, "My mother is still there. Sick with seeing my father."

 

"You really don't enjoy living in Sunspear?" Jon asked, as they stopped near a fruit vendor.

 

"I love my home, though the man in charge I am less a fan of," Arianne answered icily. "After my brother went to foster, my mother left. I wish I could have gone with her, but instead I was forced to stay with him. My father would sell us all off if he could."

 

"I look forward to meeting him," Jon joked.

 

"Ha, not likely. If he ever decides to move out of his chair and talk to someone that's not his guard, you'll be sorely disappointed in the shrimp he is." Arianne said.

 

"Strong words," Jon said, looking at her with concern.

 

"I cannot ask how it was for a Prince," she said, "But you haven't been given bethrothals to old and disgusting men. It seems that giving my hand to you was the best thing my father ever did for me."

 

Jon looked hurt and didn't speak, only turning away.

 

"I didn't mean it like that," Arianne said, touching his arm, "consider this: yours was the first bethrothal I accepted, and I'm glad for it."

 

Jon smirked. "Thank you, Ari," he said. His new pet name. "Though I wonder if your decision was any good for my health. I had a sword swinging to my head the day after we met."

 

Arianne giggled. "You handled the tourney well," she said, "I feel pride in my soon-to-be husband."

 

"I can only imagine what situations your pride will land me in next," Jon said, before throwing her an apple.

 

She was now in her room, days away from the wedding. As fun as courting Jon was, him not touching her made her starved for cock. And she needed it. Arianne considered taking another man to her bed, but decided against it. Prince Jon need not worry about her fidelity, not until he showed his possessiveness. 

 

_Not until I make him possessive._

 

Arianne smiled at the thought.

 

Still, she had needs. The morning sun shone through her window and Arianne reached under covers to touch herself. She thought of her favorite fantasy: being kidnapped and taken by a strong rogue. She closed her eyes and played with her pussy. She would be with her family on a trip and a rogue would whisk her away. He was so strong she couldn't get away. He would call her a pretty little princess and laugh at her weakness. He would bring her to his keep and throw her on his bed. Arianne stroked herself faster, imagining the dangerous man removing his clothes. She would pretend to cower but was actually wet and excited. The rogue would rip her dress off and call her pretty. Moaning, Arianne imagined the man entering her hard. His cock would be too big. "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you," he would groan. Arianne was now panting as she masturbated. Suddenly she would look at the man's face and it was Jon. He smiled deviously and put his hands on her neck. In his final thrusts, Arianne came hard and screamed. 

 

Finished, she panted and touched her hard nipples. It made her shake her head. Jon had even gotten into her favorite fantasy, the one she first developed as a pudgy little girl. She needed him, and she would have him now.

 

"Princess," Arianne heard outside her door, "Princess."

 

"What is it?" she asked.

 

"The King would like to see you in his solar in one hour's time," the man said. It was likely one of the Kingsguard.

 

"Thank you, Ser," she said, "I'll be there."

 

Arianne wondered if the man heard moans but forgot about it. It didn't matter. She got out of her bed and took a bath. She dressed in a modest dress and put pins in her hair so it stood up like Aunt Elia's. The King would prefer that.

 

_The King, Rhaegar the First._

 

Arianne pondered on the Stoic King. Even in his age he was handsome, but showed no signs of lust or distraction. His reign was consumed by confusion and unrest, and since the Battle at the Sept, hatred. It was a wonder how he maintained the kingdoms as well as he did. 

 

Then there was his firstborn son, Aegon. The lustful fool who cared more for japing and reading than governance, and more for young ladies than anything else. She and Aegon could have been the greatest king and queen in history, if he wasn't so stupid.

 

As she walked to the King's solar, escorted by her guard, she wondered what he would ask of her. Likely to size her up, and see how fine a wife she would be.

 

"Right in, Princess," Ser Barriston said. He opened the door and she entered. There behind his desk was the King.

 

"Princess, please sit down," he said.

 

Arianne and looked across the table, poised as a princess should be.

 

"How have you been enjoying your time here?" the King asked.

 

"I enjoy the city, even if it's a bit dirty," she said, "I enjoy seeing the Kingsguard in the bouts and my cousins and I have been out to the shops."

 

"And Jon?" he asked.

 

_Of course._

 

"The Prince and I are... growing to know one another," she said, "We've been spending time each day, learning about each other."

 

"Good," the King said. "What of Aegon, Rhaenys, my dearest wife? Have you spoken to them?"

 

"I see them each morning when we break our fast," she said, "Though the Prince and Princess leave early. I enjoy talking with my aunt."

 

"Elia's told me how clever you are," the King said, "Tell me. What do you wish to do when you and Jon are married?"

 

That caught her off guard. In truth she didn't know. She always assumed she would marry Aegon and be Queen, her little brother would be named prince of Sunspear. Now she had another Prince. A Prince she liked more. "I suppose we'll live at Sunspear," she said, "Our children shall rule the South."

 

"A fine thought," he said, "I'm sure you've considered it. If the gods are not with him, Aegon may fall and Jon will be placed on the throne, with you as his Queen."

 

Arianne's eyes widened. She didn't know what to say. "I haven't considered it, Your Grace," she said, "I pray Aegon is in good health."

 

"He is, he is," Rhaegar said, "but a king must weigh all scenarios. If Jon took the crown, would you serve him, and respect his wife?"

 

"I would, Your Grace," Arianne said.

 

"Now I must ask," he said, "what do you think of my son?"

 

It was clear he was referring to Jon. Any question of which son would only prove her carelessness. 

 

"He's a good man," Arianne answered, "he has his pride, but he puts his love of his family above all else." That should have made the king happy. Of course she knew Jon was less than honorable and rarely spoke of his family beyond the occasional kind word.

 

"He's a warrior," Rhaegar said, "Through and through, and a loyal one. But he's also a broken man." The king touched her hand, a surprisingly gentle action for a king. "There will come a time when you speak of his mother, my lost wife. I loved her, and Jon did as well. I ask that you be respectful, and help him grow from that. I too often wonder if he hasn't grown past her, like her voice still rings in his ear. A man despairing a loss is the weakest man of all," the King said.

 

Arianne didn't speak for awhile, uncertain of what to say. "I will, Your Grace," she simply said.

 

"Good," the King said, "for I need you to speak reason to my son when necessary. I am aware that your customs place you as heir to sunspear; add to your responsibilities, counsel to Jon. Maelstroms oft brew in the kingdoms, taking men with fury and ambition. You must keep my son clear of mind, and ensure he doesn't stray off the proper course."

 

If Arianne could have gasped she would have. Gone was the intimate talk about Jon's lost mother; now it was a discussion of controlling his temper, and his ambitions. 

 

"I shall, Your Grace," Arianne answered.

 

As she left her meeting with the king, Arianne only thought of what he meant by that. Jon was full of choler and fury, and wielded a sword greater than any knight she knew. When she asked Jon to joust for her, she found that he would fight to the death and win, for her sake. What, then, could she ask him to fight for?

 

_The Iron Throne._

 

Clearly, Rhaegar wished for her to guide him elsewhere.

 

Then a thought crossed her mind: one that seemed so innocent at first.

 

_Wouldn't Jon be a good king if I was by his side?"_

 

 

**Jon**

 

_Two days and I'm to be married. Gods have mercy; I don't think I'll make it._

 

In the time since Arianne and her party had entered the Red Keep, she had become more than a distraction. After he denied her, she appeared only more insistent.

 

Dowager Queen Rhaella and Daenerys had since come to the Keep, and Jon saw Margaery Tyrell at the court. As the wedding approached, those from the richest houses flocked to King's Landing, even as many cursed the name of the Bastard Prince. 

 

"Jon," Rhaella said when she first saw him. She held his cheeks. "it's been too long. My wonderful grandchild is getting married." They met in the Keep while the other members of houses socialized.

 

She was always the sentimental type. The thought of her once being under the heel of a madman was unthinkable.

 

"Grandmother, I trust Dragonstone's been well kept in my uncle's absence," Jon said.

 

"Viserys is still with that girl in Pentos, gods help him," she said, "But Daernerys, Jocelyn and I keep the place in order."

 

Jocelyn, Jon knew, was the Dowager Queen's handmaiden turned lover. A well kept secret, considering she was one of the few joys the Queen had while the Mad King reigned.

 

"Jon!" Daenerys yelled out before running and jumping into his arms. She was always the loving auntie.

 

"Dany," he said, holding her tight.

 

"Has my bethrothed found someone else?" Jon suddenly heard. He turned and saw Arianne, having appeared from the crowd. While her tone was upset, she smiled.

 

"Ah yes," Dany said, getting down, "Princess Arianne."

 

"Princess Daenerys," Arianne responded, "I don't think I've ever seen the prince act so silly."

 

"He's a sleeping dragon, I've always said," Daenerys responded, "You just need to prick him a bit."

 

Daenerys went to pinch him and Jon did the same.

 

"Stop," Rhaella said, before walking up to Arianne. "These two have always been this way. Don't mind them, dear."

 

Arianne raised her eyebrow and smirked at Dany, the one person who turned the black prince into a silly kid.

 

The night before the wedding, some Dornishwomen put on a grand puppet show outside. Most joined the event and sat in rows of seats while the show started. Arianne insisted on sitting next to him, while Daenerys and Rhaella sat at their sides.

 

It was the story of the fifth Blackfyre Rebellion. A musician played his lute while the figure of Maelys the Monstrous stabbed the puppet of his brother. The rows were dark, with only candlelights from the stage lit. The crowd watched and suddenly Jon felt a hand at his crotch. He turned and saw Arianne smirking. She reached under his breeches and Jon went to stop her. Then she leaned into his ear. 

 

"If you try to stop me in any way, I'll scream," Arianne muttered sweetly, "Then everyone will see the prince, compromised."

 

_She's mad._

 

Arianne forced her hand into his smallclothes and wrapped around his cock. Her hands were so small, cold, and soft. Jon held in a moan. Jon looked to see that Daenerys and Rhaella still stared at the play. Arianne felt his tip, then stroked him. Hard. And fast. He could do nothing.

 

He held in his moans as Arianne stroked his faster. Her tiny hands felt so good, and he was so hard. Arianne leaned into him and rested her head on his chest sweetly. As if what she was doing was romantic and innocent, instead of lewd and insane. If they were caught in this situation it would never be forgotten, their reputations smeared, and those songs would surely be played often.

 

Arianne stroked him faster and pulled down his smallclothes. Jon fought his desire to groan. She touched his head and his cock twitched.

 

He came hard, doing his best to not make a sound. He turned to his sides and saw that neither Rhaella nor Daenerys noticed. As he finished, Arianne rose up and smiled at him.

 

The look of sheer elation was obvious. She had the expression of a conqueror, of one who took what they wanted, and enjoyed it. Jon couldn't even say it out loud. 

 

He turned to the stage and saw the figure of Ser Barriston fighting that of Maelys. The show had through many acts without him knowing. Arianne grabbed his hand and put it under her dress.

 

"Now it's my turn," she whispered to him.

 

"Do you ever wear smallclothes?" Jon asked.

 

"Never," she smiled.

 

 

 

**Doran**

 

The Prince of Dorne wished only for his children to be happy. They were rebellious, since their mother left, and he was left half crippled. 

 

Soon though, Arianne would understand his love for her. She would see that he did everything in her interest. Now that she was married to the Prince, he could explain all he did, and ask for forgiveness. From his letters to the King, Viserys, and Tyrosh, Doran had organized to end all hostilities, while never selling his daughter to a madman. She would only need to wait to hear the explanation.

 

Doran sat at his chair, overlooking the gardens.

 

Soon, she will understand. They each will.

 

Doran wrote a letter to his goodson, knowing how instrumental a role he played in the game to come. Doran took a sip of his tea, and finished the letter. 

 

"Aero!" Doran called. The old boy should have been outside his door. "I need to send a letter. Have the maester bring a raven."

 

Suddenly Doran felt a jolt of a his entire arm. Then his other arm. His eyes widened as he realized he couldn't breathe. 

 

_No!_

 

His heart pounded and Doran tried to get up and call the Maester. He moved quickly but the gout on his legs held him back, and pained festered. Desperately he crawled to the door. He forced himself up and opened it. Doran fell and stared at the pool of the Water Gardens. It was the last thing he ever saw.

 


	7. Yellow Roses are dead roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed chapter 6. You might want to go back and read it.

 

**Arianne**

 

Jon Targaryen had yet to give in. That was her goal, and had been her aim since he fought in the tourney. Had she more time, she would have broken him earlier. At times her seductions took months, but a fortnight? She couldn't be so fortunate. 

Now she would marry the prince in a day's time. Alas, she thought, her first time with her bethrothed would likely be on her wedding night. The Prince giving in to her earlier would have served as a clear precedent of her ability to manipulate him, but now she would have to find some other way to prove that.

 

_At least it is far sweeter this way._

 

The Princess of Dorne was in the Great Sept of Baelor, observing servants setting up for the wedding. It was a supposed to be a woman's great passion, she remembered her mother saying, organizing one's wedding, but Arianne only bored. It was early in the morning, and it felt like it would be a long day.

"Arianne," her uncle Oberyn said, appearing by her side, "Are my daughters among the servants?"

Arianne looked to the Red Viper. His hair was longer, and did not have his paramour with him. That was odd. 

"I sent them to retrieve some letters," Arianne said, "The maester said I received a letter from my mother."

Oberyn's eyes turned down. "Right," he said, "I hope you know your father truly wished to be here. He cares for your happiness."

Even the mention of her father made Arianne stop listening. "Of course," she said, "That's why he married me off to a stranger. That's why he rests eternally at the Water Gardens dictating my brother's life with his soft voice."

Oberyn had a quizzical look. "My brother is an odd man," Oberyn admitted, "but consider this: where you are now is by his doing." 

Oberyn then walked away, leaving Arianne to herself again. In her mind, she already decided her father didn't care for her. It was good he stayed at the Water Gardens. She wouldn't have to see him at Sunspear. She considered even going to the Gardens to show him her new husband. Mayhaps showing him how happy she was despite his intentions would be her revenge. 

"Princess Arianne," a septa said to her, reminding Arianne of the task at hand. "Which flowers shall we display around the altar?"

"Winter Roses," Arianne said, "with Red Roses."

The woman curtsied and walked away. 

 

 _Queen Lyanna was known as the Winter Rose. That should bring a smile to Jon_.

 

Arianne continued walking about the sept, giving brief instructions to servants. Afterwards, she did the same in the courtyard. Jon was insistent that the feast and gift-giving come after the wedding. It was an odd break with tradition, but Arianne appreciated that he showed some interest in the planning. The tables were being set, with dragon sigils put around the tables. Seating, Arianne knew, posed problems.

Obara returned to her, having lost Tyene to some handsome manservant. Her hair was wild, and actually wore a dress. Obara handed her the letter. "We're due to make this a more Dornish wedding," Obara said, "All I see are dragon sigils around the tables; half of us here are Dornish. We ought to replace some of them, add a sunspear."

"The high lords are already worried that there's too much Dornish influence in the court," Arianne explained. Obara raised an eyebrow. "I know, I know," Arianne said, "but the other half of our attendees are Reachmen. They would ask for representation too, and I have no intention to see flowers or grape vines around my tables. It was a tradeoff; no one would ask to remove a dragon."

"Fine," Obara said, "Cousin, have you finished here? Shouldn't you be with your bethrothed?"

"I have a life outside of him," Arianne explained, "And I must finish organizing the seating. You know how important this is." Of course, how close certain lords were near each other, and how far they were from the royal family, would be key in maintaining and creating allies, and everyone needed allies.

"Permit me," Obara said, tucking her hair behind her ear, "Who's must you-"

"A moment," Arianne cut her off. She read the letter.

 

_Arianne, my dearest daughter, I can scarcely tell you how pleased I am to here of your marriage to the prince. Since your childhood, I knew you would grow into a strong woman, and get what was owed to you. Having heard of your father's earlier proposals, I was fearful that you would relent and accept one of them. Yet my beautiful and brave daughter resisted and now finds a prince her consort. I like to believe you got that spirit from me._

_You have been a woman for a long time now, and I have few lessons I could give you now and little advice that you have not heard. But as a mother, I am compelled to remind you of your worth. You shall one day be ruling Princess of Dorne, mayhaps the greatest since Nymeria. With all the love in my heart, I hope you find it in yourself to take what should be yours, and never give up. Listen to your advisors, your brothers, your cousins, your husband, and even your father, but always listen first to yourself._

_Regarding my place, I shall remain in Norvos. I do wish to visit you soon, should the opportunity permit me, but the conditions here require me to be here. Pirates are ever problem, and I'm certain that leaving now will create opportunities for any number of political opportunists, but I digress._

_When you come to the throne of Sunspear, remember my words. Let no man coerce you, especially not your husband. You needn't be compelled, nor ordered, by any lord, king, or husband. Take what is yours. I only wish I realized that when I was with you._

_With Love, Your Mother._

 

Arianne smiled sadly, and remembered to keep the letter on her person throughout the day. Her mother was terribly affected by her father's actions. Even now. Then she remembered her cousin was staring at her.

"What?" she asked.

"The seating," Obara reminded her.

"Ah yes," Arianne said, putting the letter between her breasts and getting the seating chart, "I am not sure whether to put the Darrys near the Vances."

"Hmm, I can't say much for Rivermen," Obara said, "What of the houses closest to the royal family? Any issues?"

"Only whether to keep the Lannisters as close as they are," Arianne said, "I put them behind the Redwynes, but they are still too close to me."

"Put them in the back," Obara suggested.

Arianne smirked. "That would be excellent," she said. 

 

"I'm Prince Jon the Bastard!" one boy cried.

"I'm Prince Aegon the Cowardly!" another boy yelled.

Arianne had taken a stroll with Obara into the town, and saw the group of orphans getting some attention. It appeared that the boys were mocking the princes of the Red Keep, and doing a fine job of it, with swords of sticks and all.

"Fight, Aegon," the taller boy said in a comedically deep voice, "I'll show you what a bastard can do."

"Oh no!" the smaller blonde boy cried in a girly voice, "I'm much too weak to fight you." And the boy pretended to faint.

"Fine, I am off," the taller boy said, walking away.

"Ahah," the shorter boy said, getting up and facing the crowd, "I have tricked him! My brother shall never defeat me. He may be a better warrior but he's as dumb as bastards come."

The crowd was eating this up. Men and women laughed, as well as fellow orphans. Or as Tyene called them, urchins. An older man pointed at the taller boy. "He's up, kid," the man said.

"Oh no!" the taller boy yelled, "My brother has fooled me, and I am a fool. No matter! Aegon!"

The short blonde boy turned around. "Oh no!" he yelled.

The tall boy removed his stick from his trousers and held it up. "Behold, the Sword of the Mourning!" he yelled. Arianne couldn't help but giggle. 

The small boys pretended to fight and eventually the taller boy won. "Any last words," he asked in his terrible deep voice, standing over the short boy.

"Only if you wear smallclothes," the short boy said.

"What?" The tall boy asked.

And suddenly his trousers were pulled down, revealing his smallclothes. The boy ran away and squealed, and the boy playing Aegon stood up. 

"I have defeated him!" he yelled. The crowd laughed and threw coins at them. At that, both boys bowed and collected their pay.

"What a show," Arianne said, "How often do you think this happens?" 

"I'd imagine often," Obara said, "given the recent events. Kingslanders would be more interested in such things."

"They were cute," Arianne said, observing the boys laughing and sharing coins among their fellow orphans.

"Aye," Obara said, "Though, isn't it treason?"

"Treason? I doubt the King would prosecute young boys," Arianne replied, "Besides, Aegon won."

 

**Jon**

Jon fought for the last time with Ser Arthur Dayne. After this, he would be married and gone to Dorne. He had to make it count.

"Come, my Prince," Ser Arthur said, "Don't get frustrated. You're only weaker when you act... irrationally."

Ser Arthur still was the best swordsman Jon knew, and after all these years had yet to beat him. He had to know of Jon's intentions. It was near sunset, and Jon had spent the day practicing. He didn't wish to be apart of the wedding planning, see the guests, or gods forbid, see Arianne. He had denied her so much, his bethrothed was soon to jump him.

Jon attacked Ser Arthur, swiping at his feet and attempting to disarm him. Ser Arthur leaped back and parried, moving Jon's sword away. Quickly, Jon used his momentum to spin his sword around him and strike again. This time, it stratched armour.

"Good strike, Your Grace," Ser Arthur said.

Jon's face grew annoyed. He didn't just want a good strike; he wanted to win. Jon attacked again, hitting Ser Arthur's sword and pushing it aside. He charged and Ser Arthur disengaged him and jutted his blade out. Jon stopped and moved back.

"Don't run into your enemy's sword," Ser Arthur ordered.

Jon was tired, but he wouldn't stop now. He fought and fought, each time getting closer to "taking out" Ser Arthur. He was about to strike once again when he heard a voice call out.

"Jon!" he heard, and both he and Ser Arthur stopped. 

Jon turned around and saw Daenerys there, her hair shining in the moonlight. She approached confidently and took up to him.

"I need you, in the Keep," she said.

"I was just about to finish with Ser Arthur," Jon replied.

"I've seen you at it for hours," Daenerys said, winded, "You can do this again I'm sure."

Jon tilted his head down. Ser Arthur touched his shoulder. "Worry not, my Prince, we shall do this again," he said.

"I believe we shall," Jon smiled, and left with Daenerys.

"Come to my chambers," she said, "I have a surprise."

Jon was curious, but didn't think to question her yet. 

"Now you're quiet," she said, "Gods I swear you never speak your mind unless your writing or fighting."

Jon couldn't tell what she meant, but soon arrived at her door. They entered, and Jon was soon in another apartment of Maegor's holdfast. Daenerys went to her endtable and pulled out a box.

"Sit on the bed," she ordered.

"You know I have to ask why," Jon said, very clear about the suggestive nature of this encounter.

"Just do it, nephew," she said.

Jon relented and sat down. Daenerys opened the box, and then pulled out a bottle of wine. She pulled out the cork, and sat next to him.

"It's the night before your wedding," she said, "you spend it fighting with the Kingsguard."

"I know them best," Jon explained.

"Just know how terribly sad that is," Daenerys replied, "Luckily you have me." She lifted up the bottle. "Now enjoy yourself. Take a drink."

Jon looked at her skeptically. Most men had a night out before wedding, but Jon rarely experienced those. Dany, though, had sought to correct for it. Jon took the bottle and drank a gulp. Then the coughed.

Dany laughed. "It's Skagosi," she said, "Hardest wine with the least effects the morning after. You'll be wide awake in the morning."

Jon was already feeling the effects. "I can hardly believe that," he said.

Daenerys took a swig and happily held the bottle. "I am happy for you nephew," Daenerys said, "I wish you a long and happy marriage."

"Thanks," Jon said, "What of you? Wondered as to when you'll marry?" 

"I decided not to marry until I'm ready," Dany said.

"What if the king makes you?" Jon asked.

"My brother can't make me do anything," Daenerys replied. "Mother always told me never to obey a man, even a king. I know what's like to happen if I do."

Jon rarely heard such independence from someone. Most accepted whatever bethrothal they were given, yet Daenerys rebelled, just like his mother. 

"I wonder why you're not with Aegon," Daenerys said. "Shouldn't brothers be more..."

"He and I have our own lives," Jon said, "I stay out of his, and as of late he stays out of mine." Even now, memories of beating Aegon satisfied him.

"I know you two aren't the best of friends; even when you were on Dragonstone you barely spoke," Dany said, "but mayhaps you could try to make some connection."

"With Aegon?" Jon asked. His brother who was half an arrogant prick and half a whoreson, who had the gall to insult his mother. He could hardly forget that.

"He's not the worst," Dany said, "And I know you could be closer to your family. Mayhaps not with the queen, but your father, Rhaenys."

"I'll consider it," Jon said, feeling the alcohol overcome him. 

 

By morning he woke up and found himself in his bed. This is why he didn't drink.

Jon got up and dressed himself. In a few hours, he would be married. He let the handmaiden put on his princely attire and cut his hair, leaving him perfectly respectable.

The wedding was soon to begin, and everyone gathered in attendance. Common folk took places standing in the Great Sept while many high lords found seats up front. Jon saw Aegon talking with Margaery Tyrell, and she laughed profusely at whatever he was saying. Near the front row was Lord Redwyne, Prince Oberyn, and Lord Dondarrion. Rhaenys was speaking with Lady Hightower while her mother spoke with Queen Elia. Jon, as he usually did, stayed out of their way. That was until Jon Connington had the thought to remove him from his place.

"The man of the hour," Lord Connington called, "Come, come."

Jon regretfully moved towards the Hand and to some of the High Lords. To his fortune, Queen Rhaella was there, along with Lord Darry and Loras Tyrell.

"A Targaryen prince's marriage," Lord Darry said, "These come so rarely. I thank you for letting me be a part of it, Your Grace."

"It is no trouble," Jon said, trying to respond correctly, "My grandmother speaks highly of you."

Lord Darry laughed. "Her Grace is too kind to an old man," he said to Jon's grandmother.

"Nonsense," Queen Rhaella said, "Willem, you're the kindest man in Westeros."

Jon found an opportunity to smile, and then Aegon approached, Lady Margaery in tow. Jon's smile fell. Aegon was dressed in his princely garb, along with a red cape, and Margaery wore the most ordained green dress he'd ever seen. 

"Grandmother," Aegon said, "Your first grandchild is to be married. The youngest at that."

"Not that Lord Tyrell wasn't trying to make it otherwise," Lord Connington remarked. 

Margaery only fluttered her eyelashes and chuckled.

"Lady Tyrell," Queen Rhaella said, "Or should I call you granddaughter?" Queen Rhaella tried to smile, but Jon knew from her letters how much she fought his father on letting a Tyrell marry Aegon.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Margaery curtsied. "It is I who is humbled to be welcomed into your family."

Jon tried to leave the conversation, when Aegon grabbed his arm. "Where are you going, brother?" Aegon said, "You've yet to meet your good-sister."

Jon looked at Aegon, and then to Margaery. "My Lady," he said to her. She looked at him with the eyes of hawk. Then she smiled. 

"Prince Jon," she said, before putting out her hand.

 

_Is she serious?_

 

The Tyrells were one of the families that scorned his existence. Of course their lady wouldn't treat him as well as Aegon. But to avoid the title "Your Grace," and too assume he'd kiss her hand so quickly, showed a new level of disrespect. Especially because she still kept her hand out to his face.

The small group had turned to them and everyone was silent. Jon considered just deferring yet again, kissing her hand and getting it over with. 

"Princess!" Lord Connington said out, and everyone turned to Arianne. She was gorgeous. Even more than usual. Her thick, black hair was in silky curls. Her dress was long and flowery, in red, black, and gold. Her dark skin glowed beautifully inside the sept, giving her a mysterious radiance. Her considerable bust was obvious, but she showed little cleavage. Under her right cheek was a strike of purple sparkles. Her dark eyes were even more beautiful than he remembered, and on her face was a knowing expression, a smile with a slanted smirk. She knew everyone was looking at her.

Jon had never seen a more beautiful woman. He couldn't imagine one. 

"Princess Arianne," Queen Rhaella said, "You look beautiful."

That was an understatement, and everyone knew it. The group of lords who turned to Arianne were slow to return to their own conversations. 

"Many thanks," Arianne said confidently, and walked to Jon. "My bethrothed, you look quite handsome." She grabbed his hand, and held it to her side, possessively. "Aegon, Margaery."

That made heads turn again. To address the crown prince and his bethrothed in such a way, it was unheard of. Aegon simply looked uncomfortable, while Margaery was clearly offended, her mouth agape. 

"I-I'm sure the Princess meant-" Margaery started.

"I knew what I said," Arianne said, "I was simply giving the same respect you were giving to the man who will be my husband."

Queen Rhaella laughed uncomfortably and Lord Darry removed her, and Lord Connington simply walked away. That left the two couples alone.

"Your Grace," Margaery said to Aegon, "Could you help educate the Princess, with respect and kindness, of her place?"

Aegon stared at Jon awkwardly, harshly. He clearly didn't want to be put in this position. "I believe that is a responsibility of her man," Aegon said darkly, forcing the words out. As confident as he could pretend to be, Aegon certainly could not act that way around his older cousin.

At hearing those words, Jon felt the same pain he had all his life. The need to submit to his older brother, appear weaker and subservient, of Aegon's taunts and slights, of all the years considered lesser. It was a pain that drove rage. Jon heard blades clashing in his head, and the sound of Aegon surrending weakly. He would not give in this time. 

"I won't tell her what to do," Jon said.

Aegon breathed in heavily and looked to Margaery, her false smile ever bitter and unhappy.

"Mayhaps we need to re-acquaint ourselves," Margaery said.

"Let's," Arianne agreed. "Jon, Aegon, please leave us."

 

**Margaery**

Both men left hurriedly. Margaery was left with Arianne Martell, radiant as any average-looking girl on her wedding day. 

 

_I can't even convince myself of that. She's gorgeous._

 

Margaery looked to the woman in front of her; she could rarely consider a woman as beautiful as her, but Arianne might have come close. Now she thought that made her exempt from the rules of etiquette.

"Princess Arianne, it's your wedding day," Margaery said, putting on a smile, "I'm sure you meant no disrespect here today."

"Lady Margaery," Arianne said, holding her hand to her chest, "I'm shocked. Did you not see the respect you showed me _husband._? I assumed this is how we treated everyone in King's Landing."

"I can't interpret my actions as disrespectful," Margaery said, "I expected a kiss on my hand, as a lady is due." 

 

_How a northern-born bastard could be offended by such an action is beyond me._

 

"Listen, Tyrell," Arianne said, shocking Margaery even more, "I know what your family's said of my husband. I know what half of these lords think of him. But it stops now. Prince Jon might tolerate such noise, but I won't."

Margaery's face went cold. Gone was any feigning of respect. "I hope you know what you're doing," Margaery said, "I'm to be Queen one day. I wouldn't make an enemy of a queen."

" _I won't feel compelled_ , nor afraid," Arianne said.

"I can't wait till your marriage falls apart when your little bastard sees what a whore he's married," Margaery said coldly. That was the first thing on her mind, when she saw the Dornish bitch.

Arianne simply laughed. "We both know what Aegon is like," she said, "You'll be one of his many girls on the side. Now who would be the whore then?"

Margaery smiled coldly.

 

_It's always the Dornish to start trouble._

 

**Jon**

After that encounter, Jon quick to find himself a new person to talk to.  Unfortunately, he couldn't find Daenerys in time. 

"Your Grace!" he heard, and Jon turned to the dreaded face of Cersei Lannister. She was among other Westerlanders, and smiled. She then creeped over to him.

"Lady Cersei," he said quickly, trying to leave.

"It's just, Cersei, Your Grace," she said.

Before she could continue, the trumpets at the end of the sept went off. The King had arrived. 

Jon and Cersei looked down the hall at the King and his Hand. The King waved to the few commoners and walked until he reached the High Septon. King Rhaegar whispered to the old man, and then spoke to the crowd. 

"Let the ceremony begin," he commanded, and everyone went to their place.

Jon was moved outside the altar with Arianne, as the seats were arranged. Jon still couldn't believe how beautiful she was. 

"You're welcome," she said.

"For what?" Jon asked.

"For beginning to address these lords' problem with you," Arianne said, "I won't have my husband be a pariah."

"Is that wise?" Jon asked, half joking, "We'd be challenging my brother's greatest supporters."

"I saw that look on your face, Jon," Arianne said, "I know you enjoyed challenging him."

Jon paused. "I did," he said.

"Good," Arianne replied, "My husband's a man." Then she grabbed his hands with her own. "And you're kind to me. Now I must be kind to you."

"You are already far grander than I ever could have imagined," Jon replied, "And may I say, you look beautiful."

Arianne smiled and held his hands tightly.

 

The ceremony was quick. Jon and Arianne found themselves at the center of the altar, holding hands while the high Septon went on and on. 

"In the sight of gods and men-" the Septon continued. Jon wasn't paying attention, but looked at his bethrothed. He couldn't take his eyes off her. The altar's lighting made her heavenly breasts glow and the purple sparkles under her eye were so appealing. It was at this moment Jon felt truly, deeply happy.

Then Jon felt Arianne grip his hands tightly and he realized he had to kiss her. It would be their first time. She smiled beautiful and Jon grabbed her cheeks. He leaned in and kissed her.

Her lips were so soft, her cheeks were so soft. Unconsciously, Jon grabbed her hair and stuck his tongue down her mouth. She tasted like the wine of the gods. 

Arianne moved her head back, and Jon jerked away confusedly. Then he realized he was kissing her far too long, and people were staring and smirking, though some common folk clapped.

"I've taken my wife," Jon whispered to her.

"Now you just need to _take_ her," Arianne japed.

 

The reception afterwards took place late in the afternoon. Jon and Arianne were centered around the royal family, and they continued to hold hands. Daenerys took a seat next to him, while Queen Rhaella sat with the King and Queen Elia to his left. On his right, Aegon and Margaery surveyed the feast. Jesters joked and musicians played while the gift-giving ceremony continued.

"For His Grace and the Princess," Lord Velaryon said, "one hundred pieces of gold from Yi-Ti, each emblazoned with a different god or emperor."

"I'm sure it would be fascinating to look at them all," Arianne said appropriately.

Lord Dondarrion bowed and walked over the the King on his left, and bowed again before leaving.

"Your Grace," Lady Waynwood started, bowing, "I offer congratulations on your wedding."

"Thank you, my lady," Jon said.

"What have you to offer?" Daenerys chimed in.

"Only my allegiance, Your Grace," the Lady said, "Ours is a poor house, but we appreciate ceremony."

Jon remembered that House Waynwood suffered greatly after the Arryns were removed from power. However, Jon noticed the suggestive nature of her swearing to him, while the crown royals were around him.

"I'm sure you mean to swear yourself before all of House Targaryen," Aegon said, looking away from Jon.

"Aye, Your Grace," the woman said, "I only meant to give the newly wedded prince his due."

She then walked away from them and before the King, and she knelt.

"I swear myself before House Targaryen and the crown," she said to King Rhaegar.

Rhaegar still had the stoic face of a king. "Aye," he said, "You promise to serve and obey and commit yourself to the will of the crown?" 

"I do, Your Grace," she said, and Rhaegar addressed her by her title and waved her off.

That was painless enough. Then came Ser Arthur Dayne.

"Ser Arthur," Jon said, "Finally come to give me your sword?"

"Hilarious, my prince," the knight said, "But I've no intention of letting you near it again. Rather, I am to give you something more personal." He turned around and young blonde boy with purple eyes approached. "This is my nephew, Edrick." The boy bowed. "His father believed it was time he fostered, but his mother prefers him to stay in Dorne. I would ask that you take him as your squire."

"Squire?" Jon asked. He had never considered taking a squire, just as he'd never considered Dorne a home. 

"Aye," Ser Arthur said, "You've been with me too long; it's time you take on one of your own."

Margaery smiled at the young boy. "He looks like you," she said to Aegon.

Jon pretended not to hear, but the words got to him. No, this boy would not be Aegon.

"Edrick, approach," Jon said, getting out of his chair and leaving Arianne's grasp. He walked up to Edrick and the bowed knelt. "Would you serve me and the realm, and promise to defend the innocent and give justice to the guilty?" Jon asked. It was the closest he could remember of the knight's code of chivalry. It was always too flowery and unrealistic to take seriously, but now it seemed to have a place.

"I will, Your Grace," the boy said.

"Then rise," Jon said, "We leave for Sunspear in the morrow."

At that both Dayne men left and Jon returned to his seat.

"I have a squire," he said to Arianne.

"I see," Arianne replied, "He's cute. I worry that he'll start to take after you."

"Is that a bad thing?" Jon asked humorously.

Arianne simply laughed it off.

Jon looked to the crowd. Most of them were eating, and paid little attention to the married prince. This was what he was used to.

"A young squire," Aegon muttered, taking a drink of his wine. "What a gift."

Jon turned away from his brother, as he usually did. Aegon and his slights.

Arianne held his hand again, and smiled. Maester Pycelle gave him two books: The Rogue Prince and the Princess and the Queen. A summer island prince gave Arianne a golden chalice and a saddle. Then Lord Kevan Lannister approached, two of his squires in tow. Lord Tywin apparently didn't see a reason to come.

"For His Grace, a bequeath a Valyrian steel sword, and to the crown prince, armour made of gold from our most prosperous mine," the squires gave both gives to princes. Jon eyed the man curiously. He was clearly trying to keep from taking sides. A Valyrian steel sword would a gift even a king would be jealous of. Jon grabbed the hilt and touched the blade. It was odd. He remembered seeing Corbray carry a Valyrian sword.

"Name it!" a man called out. Then some others agreed. Jon realized that high lords were paying attention to him, now that Lord Lannister had approached them.

"What shall I call it?" Jon asked, still eyeing the sword

"Wolfsbane!" "Widowmaker!" "Nightbringer!" "Kraken's Blood!" he heard called out. It almost made him laugh how happy they were about this.

"What about Bastard's Breach?" Aegon joked. At that, everyone became silent. Aegon still had that arrogant smile. Arianne stared at Aegon with fury an Jon's frown was obvious. "It's clearly a bastard sword, a sword-and-a-half."

Then Jon looked at the blade. "Ah," Jon said, "clearly it is." At that, everyone continued talking and laughing uncomfortably. Jon suddenly realized they had been staring at the king. All knew that calling Prince Jon a bastard was treason in the King's eye. He had punished more than one lord for even daring to the mention it. What would the king do if his own son committed that transgression?

"What about Maiden-Shield?" Arianne asked.

"Aye," Jon responded, "That works."

Lord Lannister walked away quickly, and back to his niece. 

"You're much too serious, brother," Aegon said aloud, "Laugh."

"No," Jon said immediately, to which several heads were turned. They didn't expect this from the prince. Aegon looked at him curiously, but his smile didn't stop.

"You've been more prickly than usual," Aegon said, "Is it marriage that's done it?"

"My love-" Margaery tried to say.

"He can speak for himself," Aegon said, with that damned smile. 

"Aegon!" King Rhaegar called out. Everyone went quiet again, and looked to the king. "Cease your jipes, and let Jon have his day." Aegon finally dropped his smile, and looked out to the crowd, who remained silent. "Play a bloody tune," Rhaegar commanded the band. 

As music was played, Jon and Aegon continued to receive looks from many a lord and lady. Some would smile at Jon and most would congratulate him, many would feign appreciation and bow to Aegon. Even Ser Renly appeared once, ever aware of the disdain his name might cause, and he disappeared. The odd ceremony continued, until at last there was a large basket delivered. The messenger said it was from the House Stark and House Royce, which made the crown wary. Apparently the new couple in the North wished to share their happiness.

Jon commanded the basket be opened, and as soon as it was, out poured hundreds of dead flowers. 

 

_Golden Roses._

 

Margaery gasped in horror. As did many of the members of the crowd. The flowers were the sigil of House Tyrell. Jon's heart pounded. This couldn't be from the Starks. Eddard was never one for insults. Someone must have been framing them. Margaery then spoke into Aegon's ear, and he was provoked.

"Get those out of here!" Aegon yelled, Margaery holding to his arm. He then turned to Jon. "I knew those fucking savages were plotting. And against my bethrothed. Jon, explain this."

"I don't believe those are from the Starks," Jon said.

Aegon was passed his dumb humour. When it came to the North and its perceived slights, he was serious.

"Aegon," Rhaegar said, "Calm yourself."

"Fine, father" Aegon said, "You shouldn't worry about the North walking over us and getting no comeuppance. But I cannot. I am to be Prince of Dragonstone soon, and I must secure my ties." Aegon stood up and walked in front of Jon.

"I need all my loyalties in check," Aegon said, "Jon kneel before me!"

Such what happened was the greatest silence that had occurred. Even the music stopped.

"Aegon," Rhaegar said.

"Father, is it not appropriate for all to kneel to their crown prince in a show of loyalty?" Aegon said. The King should have refused, but by all laws, Aegon was right. "You've been uncouth, brother," Aegon said, "Slightful and boisterous to my good temperament. I cannot have that, in front of the lords here. Swear to me you'll protect and serve your prince, who would be your king."

Jon suddenly realized Arianne removed her hand from his. He had been squeezing it to hard. 

"First, _brother_ ," Jon said, "What did you mean by savage northmen?"

No one was sure where to look, and all remained silent. 

"The Northmen have threatened by bride, and I must ensure that you are not with them. Make this easy," Aegon said, "And we may go back to way things were."

Jon made a decision. His mind had not thought long on it; this was driven by his heart, burning and pounding.

Jon got up and walked before Aegon. His brother was just as tall as him, and his purple eyes showed more fear than anything else. Yet he stood tall.

Immediately, Jon grabbed the blade on the table, and pulled it up, and struck before Aegon. The crowd gasped and many of the Kingsguard raised their blades. Aegon gasped, and realized that  the sword struck at his golden armour which remained on the table. The sword broke, and the armour had not a scratch on it. Everyone calmed when they realized what happened.

"Lord Kevan," Jon called out, "I know Valyrian steel when I see it. And Valyrian steel does not break. I hope this is not a precursor."

Jon put down the broken sword and grabbed Arianne's hand and took her away. Everyone saw the crown prince flinch.

Before Jon was back in the Keep, he heard his father.

"The wedding's over everyone," King Rhaegar yelled, "Drink and keep your selves calm."

 

_By the Gods, what have I done?_

 

Night had come to the Red Keep, and Jon was in bed with Arianne. They were making out 

"Gods, Jon," Arianne moaned, "seeing you like that. It did things to me."

Jon pulled her beautiful silky hair and bit her lip, making Arianne moan louder. He was consumed by adrenaline. It was pumping in his veins. And he had the perfect muse to release his feelings onto.

"You were beautiful," Jon said, appreciating her very touch and loving her dark skin. "I wanted you the whole day."

"I've wanted you for days," Arianne moaned as Jon kissed her neck. 

Jon removed her dress and pulled off his clothes, leaving him in his smallclothes. Arianne's massive breasts jutted out and looked so delicious. Jon went down to lick them when Arianne touched his face.

"Wait," she said. And Jon stopped. "I know you northerners expect a woman to give herself to her husband, and be at his command. For her to do as he says and obey. But in Dorne, we do not do that. Do you understand?" Arianne asked. 

"Yes," Jon said.

"Good, but tonight is different," Arianne said, "I want to be your obedient little maid tonight. Do with me what you like. Make me yours. Even if you have the slightest tingle, I can fix it with my tongue." Then she licked him.

Jon shuttered and beheld the glorious maiden in front of him. She was his. And no one else's. No one. 

Jon reached down and kissed her, and loved her soft lips. Then he grabbed her cheek. "Suck my cock," he ordered, and Arianne smiled.

She knelt down and removed his smallclothes. She took him in her hands and licked his cock, stroking it all the while. Jon groaned as the Dornish girl stared at him, the sparkles still under her eye.

This continued until Jon felt himself close, and decided to switch it up. "Stop," he said, "I wanna fuck your tits."

"I thought you'd never ask," Arianne moaned, and sandwiched his cock between her large tits. She rubbed them together and jerked his cock. Then Jon felt thirsty.

"Get on the bed," he told her, and Arianne happily turned around and sat down. Jon took note of her large arse and small waist and height.

"I believe it's my turn," she said, and opened her legs. Jon quickly got between them and licked up her thighs, eating her out slowly.

They continued until Arianne screamed and drenched his face in his juices. Jon rose and kissed her deeply. 

"My beautiful prince," she said.

Jon then touched his cock to her stomach, and ask her with his eyes. She nodded.

Immediately he entered her and felt a wave of pleasure unlike any he knew. She was perfect. Arianne ran her nails down his back, and Jon began to fuck her hard.

"Harder, harder," she begged, as the bed began to shake.

Jon grabbed her arse and pulled her hair, making her moan again. He was so close.

"You're mine," Jon groaned, "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," Arianne moaned weakly.

They came together and screamed, the bodies so close and legs wrapped around eachother. When it was over, they were exhausted.

"Gods," Arianne breathed, "Would you like to go again?"

Jon smiled, and kissed her. They continued four more times, intent on making it a night to remember. By the time they were about to sleep, Arianne and Jon were face to face, sweaty. Ari cuddled deeper into her husband.

"You like calling me yours, don't you?" She asked.

Jon laughed. "Is that something you'll use against me?" Jon responded.

Arianne laid her head on his chest. "You have no idea," she said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter almost killed me... Up next: Myrcella Lannister, Darkstar, and Dorne. And what, Renly?


	8. Pirates at the Gardens

 

 

 

 

**Myrcella**

 

"Remember, she's Dornish. Dornish women don't know their place. A prince of the blood will not take kindly to Princess Arianne's Dornish vices," her mother said, looking down at her. 

 

"Yes, mother," Myrcella replied.

 

"A prince will want an obedient, ladylike woman," Cersei cemented, "Be that, and Prince Jon will want you more than ever. Serve him, compliment him. He'll see soon that you ought to be his wife." Then she touched Myrcella's face. "You're beautiful, as I was. You're as aware as I was of all the men that have looked at you strangely since you turned two-and-ten. But worry about them not. Once Prince Jon knows you - once he has you, I promise you shall feel grander than you ever have before." Her mother's eyes were full of pride and cunning, her smile geniune, even though it always looked odd, like she was smirking.

 

"I will, mother. He shall love me," Myrcella said, her eyes were tired. Had the King been less scornful of her grandfather, Myrcella would have married Prince Jon originally. Her mother first tried to set her up with the Crown Prince, but after a valiant effort at the capital, Lady Cersei came back to her fuming and ranting about the Crown Prince's vices and particulars and how he would never be good enough for her daughter. At that moment, Jon became their priority.

 

He was kind, though often quiet. In their brief interactions, always at social events, he was rather courteous. Prince Jon, her mother said, would be an excellent candidate for a husband, and to Myrcella's joy, was the only candidate. It pleased her, knowing that she wouldn't be bartered or sold off like other high born ladies. Instead, she could have all her attention on the Prince.

 

When they first propositioned the prince, he was naturally quite wary. Yet Myrcella knew that of all the highborn ladies, she was among the most appropriate. That's what mother always said.

 

Now Myrcella would meet him again, on circumstances well prepared. She packed the most gorgeous dress she had, one that was almost white. It complimented her light blonde hair and dainty features. Being younger than Princess Arianne meant that Myrcella had to rely on one of her greatest assets: her virginal innocence. A warrior like Prince Jon would find it so appealing; all men do.

 

 

 

 **Arianne**  

 

The sounds that had been coming from the carriage were loud and full of groaning. Arianne had convinced Jon that the carriage kept in voices, and now they were at it again. No doubt the Sand Snakes and Red Viper could hear them, as well as the rest of the Dornish guard. She couldn't wait to see Jon's surprised face when got out and saw everyone's knowing looks. Arianne looked up to Jon resting on her breasts, exhausted. All that waiting got to him, it seemed.

 

It was good he was so eager. The more he enjoyed her cunt, the more leverage she had over him. In a way that pleased her more than anything.

 

 

 

_And soon I'll get him to fuck like a Dornishman._

 

 

They left at dawn after they wed, before the rest of the royal family had awoke. Jon's *display* had set King's Landing into a frenzy, and the King surely would have come to them after their bedding. Jon for once did not want to satisfy his father, and they departed quickly. What occurred still made Arianne uncomfortable. Who turned her wedding into a threat against the Tyrells? Who would put Jon in such danger? Jon had to be right; the North wouldn't be so insulting. Now the King would be seeking them, in attempt to quell the inevitable rumors. She would have to ask Jon's thoughts on that, on what he knew.

 

Now they all had just past Ghost Hill, and they were nearing the Water Gardens. After days travelling past God's Grace and the Princess Pass, Jon was glad to be nearly there, she remembered him saying. The lovely dry air of Dorne apparently didn't please him especially, even if he only mentioned it briefly. But lucky for him, he could be distracted.

 

Arianne smiled. Her legs were still shaking.

 

 

 

_At last. A proper cock in me, and a prince's is just as fine as they say._

 

 

 

Her expression turned to one of joy to cleverness and amusement. 

 

"You're getting better at that," Arianne said, still holding Jon on top of her. She loved his weight against her.

 

"It's good you like it," Jon said, his eyes closed.

 

Arianne chuckled. "I'm easily satisfied; and this particular kind of satisfaction is quite refreshing," she responded. "It's not every day one gets to bed a dragon."

"Are you treating your husband like a fine wine?" Jon asked.

"I'm just not used to it: dragons, northmen," Arianne whispered, grabbing his arse, "I'm liking the taste."

 

"Princess!" Arianne heard. The guard at the door was frantic.

 

"What is it?" She asked.

 

"Pirates!" The man responded, "Pirates have taken the Water Gardens."

 

Arianne's heart beat quickly and she felt panicked. Jon, however, immediately dressed and got out of the carriage. 

 

"Where are you going?!" Arianne screamed at him. He wouldn't just leave her.

 

"Stay in the carriage," Jon commanded, as he lept out. He peaked his head back in. "Stay and we'll get you to safety."

 

"Jon," Arianne cried out, half afraid and half upset.

 

"Stay; I'll be back," Jon said, and immediately he was off. "Take the carriage away! I need a dozen men guarding it. The rest of you come with me!"

 

Arianne remained confused and she felt the carriage move quickly. Tyene jumped into the carriage, herself panicked and her blonde hair a mess.

 

"I've seen them," Tyene said, "they taken the whole area. Obara and father are leaving to fight with the Prince."

 

Arianne remained afraid, and angry. She would not lose her new husband so quickly, after some foolhardy attack.

 

"How many men are going with them?" Arianne asked, trying to peak outside.

 

"Some two dozen," Tyene said, trying to smooth her dress, "of course this to happen now."

 

"My father is at the Gardens," Arianne said lowly.

 

Tyene simply remained silent.

 

 

 

 

 

"Princess," Arianne heard. Tyene peaked her head up and they both listened intently. It had been over an hour since they were shipped away from the Gardens.

 

"Yes?" Tyene asked.

 

"We've retaken the Water Gardens," the guard said.

 

"Where is my husband, my cousin, Prince Oberyn?" Arianne asked.

 

"They faired well, but my princess..." the man trailed off. "It would be best if you came."

 

Arianne turned to Tyene, who was equally concerned. A battle with pirates at the water gardens no less. Children fostered there, and the palace held many of the house guards of House Nymeros Martell. How could pirates have taken it? What could they have done?

 

"Take us," Arianne ordered the man.

 

Immediately they were entered into the Water Gardens. The old palace's white and white marble held up. Strangely, there was neither smoke nor blood around the walls. Instead she saw guards, carrying spears and wearing sand cloaks, leading children away from the Gardens. 

 

She saw children of Houses Yronwood, Allyrion, Fowler,  blonde their hair easily noticeable, and Toland, their red hair bright and wild. Inside she saw several dead pirates on the ground, dirty men with long hair. There were but a few of them, which was even more strange. That they could take such a vast hold was next to impossible.

 

Then they entered the main pool area, where guards had put the remaining pirates on their knees. Around them, Obara and Oberyn had their spears out. Jon walked among them, carrying a sword covered in blood. They were arguing with 

 

"For the last bloody time, we took it ourselves!" one of the pirates said.

 

Jon then placed his blade at the man's throat. "You took a palace with no gold and more guards than any hold around. Now lie to me again."

 

Arianne felt her heart flutter again and ran to Obara. "What is he doing?" Arianne asked.

 

"He's taken it upon himself to 'interrogate' all of our prisoners," Obara deadpanned.

 

"Are we're letting him?" Arianne questioned.

 

"He carried himself well in the battle; there's respect in that, but..." Obara stopped, "there's something you must know."

 

"What?" Arianne asked.

 

"Arianne, your father is dead," Obara said.

 

Immediately Arianne became senseless, and she couldn't speak. Her father, the Prince of Sunspear, husband to her mother... Then she felt guilt in her heart. She always dreamed of him losing his title, of taking it from him and punishing him for all he did. Now, to think of him gone made her feel cold. Then she felt a kindle in her soul, an ember, from all the years she held anger and rage at the man she called father. She remembered a small, shrimp of a man who made her and her brothers' life so much worse. She remembered wishing only to flaunt her happiness at him. Now, her conceived something new, something dark: opportunity.

"Take me to him," Arianne said. She wouldn't need to feel guilt long. Her heart would harden soon enough.

 

 

 

 

 

Their arrival at Sunspear was not met with joy or flowers, but grief and solemnity. Prince Oberyn suggested that Prince Doran have his funeral at the Water Gardens. They were the place he loved most. They rode up to the Shadow City on sand steeds, escorted by a dozen guards. Oberyn's bastard Nymeria arrived to meet them, guiding them back through their home. The shadow city remained a sandy, barren place, but now the bazaars and running children were replaced by a crowd in mourning, looking to their new leader.

 

Jon was at first perplexed with Arianne's apathy. Then he tried to console Arianne after her father's death, only to learn that her ill words about him were more than words. They ran deep. She did not cry nor pretend to feel bad. 

 

_He ought to understand how one can feel nothing with the death of certain family members._

All common folk who wished to see their former Prince gone from the world traveled three leagues north to see the funeral, and now what was left in the city was a crowd of orphans and those wishing to see the new Prince Consort.

 

_Sunspear, Dorne, it's mine._

 

Arianne kept thinking about her father, who ruled her life, drove off her mother. The people of Dorne would send condolences, but she would not need them.

 

_Dorne is mine. Finally._

 

 

"Where is Quentyn?" Arianne asked as they reached the main castle. They had rode past the Winding Walls, through the Shadow City and past the Spear Tower. Hundreds of Dornish guards could be spotted along the walls. Finally she was home again, where people acted normally.

 

"Myr," Nymeria said, petting her horse's head.

 

"A rumor," Oberyn responded, "None can be sure where the young prince ran off."

 

"I believe he's mourning his father," Obara said, "the boy doesn't know what to do."

 

Arianne resisted rolling her eyes. Her brother should have felt relieved as she did. They could decide their life for their self now. Now she'd be left to deal with all the work to come.

 

"I suppose we're heading toward the Tower of the Sun," Jon said suddenly. 

 

"How sharp of you," Tyene said, "Most are disoriented when they first enter the Shadow City."

 

"I had to read about this place," Jon responded, "Didn't want to be a total fool."

 

"Caleotte did his job then," Tyene smiled.

 

"Aye, though I didn't expect-" Jon stopped, looking around at the barren and arid city.

 

"It's not King's Landing," Arianne said, "Or Highgarden. But you'll find charm in it soon."

 

"Aye, all you northerners warm up to Dorne, in all ways. Isn't that right cousin?" Nymeria asked. 

 

Jon turned away, his expression hard and confused. 

 

 

 

_He can kill a man but when there's talk of sex aloud, he's like a little boy._

 

 

"Aye," Arianne responded, looking to her husband. Before he learned of Doran's death he was more than eager to learn how pirates took the Gardens. It would make sense for that to be his primary concern. Arianne looked down, feigning sadness. "I believe we need to bathe, rest, so that we may gather the lords nearby lords and commense the ceremonies," she said.

 

"Yes," Obara said, "We have a new Princess of Dorne, and Prince Consort."

 

Arianne smiled sadly in feign and looked towards her cousins who had similar expressions, all except for Oberyn, who just looked away.

 

He was upset about his elder brother's death, no doubt. He was weak, obviously, but a brother nonetheless. But Arianne recovered quickly, and now couldn't help but consider Dorne under her reign. 

 

 _I am Princess of Dorne. Now begins my reign; Dorne shall again be strong_.

 

"So this is it?" Jon asked, looking around the palace. It was far from the Red Keep, not as massive or grandiose, but grand and even more beautiful, ornate and curved.

 

"It was built by the Rhoynar after Nymeria landed at the Greenblood," Arianne said, pointing to the onion shaped Tower of the Sun, "The old palace is far uglier."

 

Jon paused. "I suppose this is my home now," he said.

 

Arianne expression dropped and she walked up behind him, and took his hand. "I hope it can be," she said hopefully. "Here, let me show you where you'll stay."

 

They held hands and walked to a nearby chambers. Inside was a large room with an equally large bed, with a view to the Summer Sea to the side. 

 

"This is our bedroom," Arianne said.

 

"Shouldn't we each have our own chambers?" Jon asked, genuinely confused.

 

"You northerners are such prisses," Arianne responded, "No, this is our room and this is where we both shall stay." She turned him around and held his face. She kissed him hard and he responded in kind. "I believe you may be a good husband. Worry not, you'll learn all our customs here. Now, get on the bed."

 

"So soon?" Jon asked, holding her close.

 

"Right, let's discuss the rules first," Arianne said, "I am ruler of Dorne and your wife. By right you must obey me."

 

Jon only smiled humorously, egging her on.

 

"Oh you'll see what happens if you disobey me," she said, "Now, first rule." She pushed him onto the bed. "When I say get on the bed, do it." She climbed on top of him and pulled off his shirt, kissing down his chest. "When I tell you to fuck me, fuck me." Arianne pulled off her dress, revealing her massive tits. She then grabbed Jon's trousers. She could feel how hard he was. "And also, no clothes in bed." Jon's eyes showed only desire as she pulled off her trousers and smallclothes, leaving him exposed. Then she attacked him.

 

 

 

"That was interesting," Jon said. Arianne was resting her head on his chest. They both felt elated.

 

"I'm sure there are other words in your vocabulary," Arianne replied.

 

"Well we'll need new sheets come morning," Jon said, holding her to him. "Were those real rules?"

 

"Yes and no," Arianne responded. "The idea of the rules is true, but no not exactly. But, they also apply to me."

 

"Aren't I a lucky husband?" Jon said.

 

"Yes you are," Arianne smiled and kissed him.

 

 "When does the fealty ceremony start?" Jon asked.

 

"In the morrow," Arianne said. "Most lords expected to welcome us back from King's Landing. Now it will be swearing fealty to their new Princess and Prince."

 

"Ari, I am sorry about your fath-" Jon was cut off.

 

"One rule," Arianne said quickly, raising her head up, "one real rule: be extremely hesitant when talking about him." She rested on his chest again. "Besides, we now have a chance to make Dorne as we want it. I reckon you deserve at least that." 

 

Jon paused, then held her hair. "Aye."

 

 

 

By morning they had prepared to meet all the high Dornish lords. Jon was walking with Arianne, who guided him about the Tower of the Sun, introducing him to their occupants their new Prince Consort.

 

"Lady Ladybright," Arianne called out to a pretty older lady with dark-ish hair, "My Prince, this is Alys Ladybright, our treasurer here."

 

"My Lady," Jon said, taking her hand.

 

"Quite formal," Alys said, "I must say your grace you're more handsome in person." She then smiled knowingly at Jon. Jon, to his credit, only looked uncertain.

 

"Yes, thank you," he said, and the woman walked off.

 

Then Arianne finally the old fat man. "Maester Caleotte," she called out, and an old man walked to them, "this is Prince Jon Targaryen."

 

"Your Grace," the man flustered, "it is an honor." 

 

"The honour is mine," Jon said, "I appreciate those books you sent me."

 

"Yes well I knew a prince would do well learning about a land as vastly different from the seven kingdoms as Dorne. A man would get lost in all the subtle nuances-"

 

"Thank you, maester," Arianne stopped him, taking his book and they continued walking. "I haven't seen you with your squire." 

 

"Edric?" Jon replied, "No, I wouldn't know what to do. I'm to be learning the ways of Dorne. How can I with a boy at my back?"

 

"I know you've seen him," Arianne said, "He's been quiet, respectful. Now we're here. It is time to set him on a proper path."

 

"Fine," Jon said.

 

"Good," Arianne replied and kissed his cheek. "Soon, dear husband, we shall make this all so natural." Arianne smiled, a true expression unlike she usually had. Mayhaps it should have made her feel guilty. But now, now it was all so perfect.

 

"So who shall we meet?" Jon asked.

 

"The usual characters," Arianne said, reading Caleotte's schedule, "Yronwoods, Allryrions, Ullers, and... a Lannister?"


	9. Post-wedding - King's Landing

**Rhaegar**

“And now do you see where your arrogance has left you, Paxtor?” Lord Beric Dondarrion said to Lord Redwyne. “We’re left in an even worse position.” The small council had been convened following the wedding. Lords who did not attend arrived to King’s Landing quickly, to discuss the new matters.

“I didn’t think the princes would be so petty during a godforsaken wedding,” Lord Redwyne said, “Who would dishonor the sanctity of a royal wedding?”

“I’ve already heard musicians and maesters trying to think of a name for this event,” Lord Dondarrion said, “the Princes’ brawl, ‘Aegon’s faulter’.”

“This will boost his reputation in the realm tenfold, I am certain,” maester Pycelle said, “Events such as these always become inspirations for treasonous actors. No doubt Prince Jon will remain popular even while he is in the south, and his more than speedy evacuation could very well be interpreted as an escape from the King’s justice!”

Jon had left early, as well as the rest of the Dornish company, before dawn. King Rhaegar allowed him his night, but Jon must have known he would receive some choice words for his actions that day. It surprised Rhaegar; Jon had always been dutiful.

“Why should we care?” Redwyne said, “Prince Doran still rules the south, and now the black prince resides with a loyal watcher.”

“You assume he’ll suddenly become dumb and silent under Martell’s thumb?” Lord Tarly said.

“Most like he’ll be too busy with his new bride,” Lord Redwyne said, “The prince took her immediately after the wedding and now he’s smitten with her. Besides, we’ve all seen her. I imagine he’ll be too distracted by the girl’s tits to even consider rebellion.”

“I see,” Lord Dondarrion said, “You believe the Black Prince is now clawless with his little wife.”

“My lords,” Lord Hand Connington said, “Such is not our concern. We must address the implications of this event, but also the rising tensions we have seen.”

King Rhaegar Targaryen was silent. He was pensive, thinking, his expression far from emotionless. Now he was visually upset, though quiet. He sat at the head of the table, occasionally getting a glance from the other lords. His crown glowed brilliantly, and his violet eyes simmered. What had occurred at Jon’s wedding was the opposite of what he intended. Now Jon might as well have married Sansa Stark; the result would have been just a dangerous as what had happened.

“Right,” Lord Tarly said, “The Starks, and the message they’ve allegedly sent.”

“I want Ned Stark’s head!” Lord Tyrell yelled, “What he’s done is bloody treason!”

“Calm yourself, Mace,” Lord Dondarrion said, “We’ve not received any confirmation of who did this.”

“My family has been threatened, my daughter, the crown princess, threatened,” Mace Tyrell exclaimed, “This is tantamount to war.”

“Aye, it is,” King Rhaegar finally chimed in, “Someone wants to start a war.” Then he turned to the Hand, and to the other members of the council, including Tyrell, whose exclamations were wearing on the King’s nerves. “Any guess who it may be? Lord Varys?”

The Spider peaked up his head; he had been almost as quiet as the King. “The obvious answer would be the Starks and Royces,” Lord Varys said, “Now that they’ve married without our knowledge they are prime for a new rebellion.” Many of the Lords nodded, profusely by Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly, though not at all by Lord Connington.

“Aye, Lord Varys,” the King said, “I’ve thought as much. But I ponder this: those who mean to incite this war do so by making my son, Prince Jon, the focus of our concerns, the threat to my and my son Aegon’s rule.” Many of the lords nodded curiously, except Lord Varys, who stared blankly, waiting. “Yet they haven’t considered Jon’s safety.” The king deadpanned. Many of the lords were confused. “Whoever means to make Prince Jon a usurper hasn’t considered that I could have him killed or imprisoned at any time.” The council was silent. Never had the King said anything of that sort, never about violence against his family, nor any question of the younger prince’s loyalty. Any Lord that did saw themselves in imprisoned.

The King looked around the council, taking careful note of the faces of each man, their reactions, and their expressions.

“I ask you, my lords, who would risk Jon’s life, and count on me to let him live?” King Rhaegar asked.

_Who will speak first?_

After several moments of silence, Lord Varys finally spoke. “I believe Your Grace asks an important question; the simple answer would be that they assume you are unwilling to strike at your son.” Pycelle nodded in agreement.

“So whoever has sent these provocations, they assume I am weak?” the King asked both men, to which they couldn’t respond. “I believe, then, that we mustn’t consider my late wife’s family the only source of tension in the realm; if Eddard Stark wants Prince Jon on the throne he likely doesn’t want to put him at such risk. Lord Tyrell, your concerns are heard. Speak them again once you’ve processed what another ill-conceived war, a war based on lies and deception, might bring to the realm. Lord Connington.” He pointed to the man.

The Hand of the King breathed quickly, and many of the men of the council did as well. They had been holding their breaths. The King was always most fearsome when he spoke so precisely. “There are reports of pirate attacks,” Lord Connington said, “on the coast of Storm’s End, Tarth and along the Sea of Dorne. Our ambassadors to Myr believe they are Tyroshi pirates.”

“Pirates along the Stepstones,” Lord Tarly said, “Hardly a surprise; they’ve been at it for decades.”

“Rather, my lord,” the Hand explained, “the purpose of these new attacks is what concerns us. There are rumors that the Golden Company is sponsoring these attacks. And more, there are to be led by a Targaryen, and some even say a Blackfyre.”

Many of the lords raised their heads in confusion. They hadn’t heard that name in decades. “The Blackfyre line ended with Maelys the Monstrous,” Maester Pycelle said, “these are rumors aimed to strengthen their numbers, and draw fear from their enemies.”

“I’d wager it’s a lie,” Tyrell said, “as the maester said.”

“What would even be the purpose of these attacks?” Dondarrion asked.

“That we do not know, my lord,” the Hand explained.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and Ser Barriston opened it, revealing knight of the Kingsguard, Lewyn Martell. The old man was distressed, his helmet under his arm.

“Ser Lewyn,” King Rhaegar said, “This is a small council meeting. What compels you to interrupt us?”

“Your Grace,” the knight stammered, “I would not have, but your wife, she is frantic.”

“Elia,” Rhaegar said under his breath.

“She… we learned that Prince Doran has been murdered at the Water Gardens,” the old man said. “Prince Oberyn sent word by secret messenger.”

Each of the small council members were silent, and looked around at each other, and the King. Doran was dead, attacked. The implications almost made the King shudder. But he was still, reserved.

“Princess Arianne and Prince Jon were heading toward the Gardens,” Lord Connington said, “What news do you have of them?”

“They are safe,” Lewyn said, “and the pirates captured. Now my grand-niece rules at Sunspear.”

_Isn’t this bloody perfect?_

“Ser Lewyn,” the King said, “I offer condolenses for your nephew. You may take leave for the day to grieve.”

“I would prefer to console the Queen, Your Grace,” the knight said.

“Then do so,” Rhaegar said. “And take me to her.”

Each of the men in the council stood up, intent on leaving.

“No, everyone remain here until I return,” King Rhaegar affirmed, leaving immediately.

He walked out of the room led by Ser Lewyn, and before he exited the door, whispered into Ser Barriston’s ear. “Don’t let any of them leave,” he said, “I don’t want any of this getting out.”

King Rhaegar walked through the Red Keep, intent on meeting his wife. He touched his hair, and was certain it would be an old man’s white if not for his Valyrian blood. He also realized his hand was shaking. No matter what he tried, worries only amplified and the tenuousness of his reign became ever more obvious. Jon’s actions at the Wedding and his subsequent departure, whispers of Blackfyres or rebellious Targaryens (no doubt it was Viserys), threats of war from the North, Prince Doran’s death, and now the likelihood that Jon would rule the South, all weighed on the King’s mind.

_No wonder my father went mad._

When King Rhaegar entered his wife’s solar, he saw her there, beautiful, her ornate dress and tiara shimmering, and tears running down her face. Concerned, he went to her.

“Elia,” Rhaegar said, “I’m sorry about your brother.”

He sat by her and held her, while Ser Lewyn stood apart and looked away.

“Rhaegar,” the Queen got out through her tears, “We must, we must send word to Oberyn. He must do this for us now.”

“It will be done,” the King said, “Have Rhaenys or Aegon heard?”

“No,” she said, “I hadn’t the heart to tell them.”

“We must keep this between us, for now,” the King said, looking at her seriously, his hard expression faltering.

“Then we shall but soon they will know,” the Queen said.

“They will,” Rhaegar affirmed.

“I will write to Oberyn,” Elia said.

The King left his wife with Ser Lewyn, and walked by to the small council chamber. It was still early in the morn, and much had to be done. Before he entered, Rhaegar heard talking from the council chamber.

“She does have marvelous tits,” Lord Redwyne said, “The black prince filled the Red Keep with the loudest screams after the wedding, I imagine.”

“Fuck the Princess’s tits,” Rhaegar heard Lord Dondarrion exclaim, “We should consider Tywin Fucking Lannister. What was that at the wedding? A fake Valyrian blade? What game is he playing? We all know the Old Lion is the most immediate threat to the Kingdoms, after what he did at Duskendale.”

“My lords,” Lord Connington said, “The King would not like to be reminded of that.”

It was clear to Rhaegar why they spoke of Tywin while he was gone. For his part in Duskendale, Robert’s fall and Rhaegar’s ascension to the throne, Tywin was considered invaluable. But after taking Lyanna, Tywin was an anathema. In many ways, Eddard Stark was preferable to the Old Lion.

Ser Barriston opened the door, permitting the King to enter and sit back down at the table. The lords were silent, and waited to speak.

“Many of you are wondering what is to be done now,” the King stated simply, “Pycelle, who rules Dorne?”

The old maester shifted uncomfortably. “I believe his eldest, the Princess Arianne, now rules,” he said, “Allowing women to rule. The Dornish are a strange people.” Then he panicked. “No offense to the Queen, Your Grace,” he said quickly, “She rules well and has blessed the kingdom with marvelous-“

“Now,” the King interrupted him, “that leaves my son under his soon-to-be busy wife, with little to do, and an aggressor attacking their shores, and that of the Stormlands,” the King explained. Each man waited for him to continue, and he turned to the Hand. “Lord Connington, send word to my son. He is to fight on our behalf: he’ll end this madness at Myr and the Stepstones, and draw out whoever is causing this.”

“Brilliant, my king,” Pycelle said, “But what of his actions at the wedding?”

“Ensure that it’s forgotten,” the King simply said, standing up.

At that, the meeting was over. The men walked out, leaving the King and his Hand. Rhaegar, as soon as they left, sat back down, exhausted.

“Jon, what fate have the gods given me?” the King asked, his hand in his face. His crown felt particularly heavy.

“Rhaegar,” the Hand said, touching his shoulder, “these are the stresses of a king. Mind you this: many before you were far less composed, far less.” Connington stroked his orange beard. “I am not sure who it is yet; there ought to be one among the council.”

“I searched their faces,” the King said, “one reacted far differently than the others.”

King Rhaegar left the council chamber, intent on seeing his family. Rhaenys and Aegon would need to know, he would need to speak with his mother, and Daenerys still had a part to play. First, he found Aegon, reading at the library. He was always a studious boy. Rhaegar couldn’t deny the comparisons some made between him and Aerys the First. Yet the old saying that “Aerys would sooner bring a book to his bed rather than his wife" certainly didn’t apply.

“Aegon,” the King called out. Immediately Aegon peaked his head up. He wore his princely garb, a gold and red attire.

“Lord Father,” Aegon said.

“You know why I am here,” Rhaegar said.

“Jon,” Aegon deadpanned, annoyed, “he insulted me, and threatened me.” He looked upset, and put his book down.

“Come here,” Rhaegar said.

Uncertain, Aegon stood before his father. Like Jon, he was near the King in height. “I-I know I shouldn’t have-“ Aegon got out.

“You bloody told your brother, a prince, to kneel,” King Rhaegar fumed, venom on his lips.

“I couldn’t have-“ Aegon said, before Rhaegar smacked his face and hit him to the floor. Aegon was in shock and held his face, and Rhaegar grabbed his son and pulled him up by his collar.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” the King asked, fury in his eyes.

Aegon was still and silent. “Margaery,” he said, “Margaery Tyrell told me to, thought I could reclaim my honor for her if I listened-“

“And that!” the King exclaimed, “Enough of that. You’ve sullied our name and made an enemy of your brother. Gods help you that your mother allows such acts but I won’t have it. You do not obey Tyrell, and you will not forget your place again.”

King Rhaegar put down his son, who wiped his breeches and looked up to his father. “I am crown prince,” Aegon said.

“And I am King,” Rhaegar said. “You know that this will not be forgotten. All the realms will remember this act. You caused this.”

“The Starks caused this!” Aegon whined, “And Jon will be in Dorne under uncle Doran; what does it matter? I listened to Margaery because it was the right decision.”

“The right-“ the King stopped.

“Father,” Aegon said, getting angry, “Let us consider a Northern rebellion: they have enough men, with the Riverlands and Vale to take King’s Landing. But the Reachmen could end them in a single battle. Lord Hightower can raise more men than the whole North and Vale combined. The Tyrell triple that. Not to mention any attempt to raise the banners at Dorne will end swiftly. Mother and Rhaenys hold more sway in the region than even fading uncle Doran. A loan from the Iron Bank would assuredly require Lord Tyrell’s backing, and possibly that of Lord Lannister, no friend of the North. A new war requires allies and we must find them in the Reach.”

Rhaegar stared at his son, his son that read and bred, but knew little of what simple mistakes might do to any well-developed plan.

“You’re considering a war with the North already,” the King stated.

“Father,” Aegon said, “You know as well as I that they hate us. I needed Jon to kneel; it would have ended all their pride.“

“Aegon,” Rhaegar said, “You told your brother to kneel before you, after you called the North a place of savages. This is talk I will not tolerate.” Rhaegar touched his son’s shoulder, and stared into his violet eyes. “Listen to me,” the King said, “You will no longer sully our name, and you will never speak like Aerys the Mad again.”

 

 

**Daenerys**

“It was bloody Aegon and the Tyrell girl on his arm,” Rhaenys said as she walked through Dany’s quarters. "Jon barely did a thing to start it. Blasted roses could have just been moved away." They were discussing the events at the wedding, even though Daenerys was more interested in why Jon left so quickly. Left her. Dany sat on the bed while Rhaenys paced back and forth.

“Mayhaps he believed Jon would actually submit,” Dany said, tying a braid in her hair. Her handmaiden, like Rhaenys’, was out attending Lady Margaery.

“I saw the fear in his eyes,” Rhaenys explained, “He knew it was a foolish act. Now realms have another story of Aegon’s weakness. How perfect.” Rhaenys rolled her eyes. She wore a long yellow dress, in contrast to Dany’s purple one.

“You seem annoyed,” Dany said, “But you didn’t speak up.” Then she was silent for a moment. “Why don’t you talk to Jon?”

Rhaenys looked at the younger girl, and stopped. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, “he’s gone and now the kingdoms are on the brink of collapse.”

Dany eyed the girl curiously. “You seem eager to change the subject,” Daenerys affirmed.

“You seem eager to speak of him” Rhaenys snapped back quickly. “Why? Are you upset he left without you?”

Dany pouted. “Well, yes,” she said.

"Well now he's with the Dornish princess," Rhaenys stated, then she chuckled. "A Dornish princess, right. Worry not, he will not love her. Once he is done with her and gotten over her spell he would easily prefer to spend time with you."

"You don't believe he will love her?" Dany asked, "not ever?"

"Not Jon," Rhaenys stated.

Before they could continue, there was a knock on the door, and Dowager Queen Rhaella entered. She walked towards other Targaryen girls, her gait practiced and her crown shimmering.

“Mother,” Dany said.

“Dany, Rhaenys,” the Queen stated, “Forgive me if I’m a bit tired. I was to speak of bethrothals, but then had to argue with my son the King about his younger brother. I tell you, these men, they love to fight, especially when they’re brothers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other part was just way too fucking long. I'll get it up soon. I'm almost done with it.


	10. Post-wedding - Dorne

**Jon**

“Your Grace,” Jon heard. It was a whisper. Jon’s eyes opened and he saw only darkness. He was in King’s Landing. He had just gotten married, and Arianne was sleeping on his chest. Moonlight shined through the window, and the crash of the ocean waves was louder than the voice speaking. “Your Grace,” he heard again. Now more awake, Jon recognized the voice, though he could barely see the figure in the moonlight.

“Spymaster,” Jon whispered, trying not to wake Arianne.

“Very well, Your Grace, though who I am is not at all important compared to what you’ve done,” Varys stated.

“You’re in my room,” Jon said, anger in his voice.

“And you should be thankful I found my way here,” the Spider said, “there are whispers across the kingdoms: dead roses, threats from the North and a prince’s rage.”

_The Golden Roses. Someone is setting up the Starks. And Aegon…_

Jon remembered Aegon’s actions and felt that same fury again. His brother was a damned fool, but he was never so insulting. Jon had never been so angry with him. It must have been Aegon’s fear of the North that made him so bold, or his jealousy of Jon's growing reputation. “I know nothing of the roses,” Jon whispered.

_I am no Blackfyre._

“But you did draw a blade on the crown prince,” Varys said, “It is no matter. I am here to warn you; the King will no doubt be enraged. He’s allowed you this moment but in the morrow the Queen shall convince him to act. You may stay, Your Grace, but your wife’s Dornish host likely does not want to delay their trip back home, nor face whatever His Grace has in mind. Hmm, in all my years I’ve never seen an act like that. Even the Stoic King might break and show his wrath.”

Jon would have protested, but something in him told him to listen to the Spymaster; his father had never shown wrath, but he would likely lecture, control, and order him. Jon felt Arianne against him, her warm breasts and hot breath. His wife was beautiful, and he was a man. He would not be stifled any longer. If his father wanted him, he could send a bloody raven to Dorne and ask. His responsibility was now only to his wife. When the Spider left, Jon was quick to wake up Arianne. It was near dawn.

“My Prince,” Arianne moaned as he shook her awake, “Would you like to take your wife again? That better be the only reason you’ve waked me.” Her thick, black hair messy, Arianne smiled. Jon then insisted they leave, reasoning that it would be better to avoid any awkwardness caused by yesterday's events. Arianne was happy to oblige, so long as they continued their wedding night in their carriage.

They woke up Tyene, Obara, Oberyn, and his paramour, and the rest of the Dornish host, and left the Keep. By the time it was noon in King’s Landing, they were in the Reach. By nightfall, they were in the town of Tumbleton. Jon initially wished to see the town. He knew it was an historic site, where the Hugh Hammer and Ulf White betrayed Rhaenyra during the Dance of the Dragons, and he could see the scorches of dragonfire that still marked the road and castles. Princess Arianne, however, had a better idea.

“My Prince,” Arianne moaned as looked down at her, “Do you like fucking me? Do you like my tight little Dornish cunt?” They were looking in each other’s eyes as they fucked, and their moans echoed off the carriage walls.

“Aye, I do” Jon moaned, barely keeping focus. “Does my Dornish Princess wish for me to fuck her harder? Does she want to feel my seed inside her?”

Before she could speak Jon got lower and pressed his chest to her ample breasts and gave her his hardest thrusts. She squealed and Jon could help the building in his loins. She was too good.

“I want it,” she moaned, “I want your seed inside me. Fuck me. Fuck me!”

She wrapped her legs around his torso and he gave her his last thrusts before she screamed and he exploded inside of her. Jon involuntarily started shaking, and they both could feel the carriage rock.

Arianne let out the most delicious moan while Jon grunted and finished inside of her. The expression on her face only made him proud, and gave him a cocky smile. Arianne bit her lip and smiled up at him.

“Don’t get overconfident, Your Grace,” Arianne said, “I’ve simply been denied your touch for too long. It has nothing to do with how good you are.”

“I’m sure,” Jon said, “that’s why we’ve been at it since we left King’s Landing.”

Arianne giggled and kissed him. Her lips were so soft, and Jon grabbed her breasts and felt her up. For a while he wondered if being married could be one of his best delights.

Through Ashford and the Grassy Vale, they continued southward. Arianne rarely gave Jon a chance to stretch or feel the open air, and they rode together on horseback only briefly through the Prince’s Pass. They travelled along the river Green Blood and the climate shifted quickly from grassy to mountainous to desert. Somehow it was cooler inside the carriage, and Arianne was only happy to stay inside with him.

When they were not a league from the Water Gardens, Jon was resting on Arianne’s breasts. It almost made him ashamed to know that he was becoming possessed by them.

“I must say, I like the taste of you Northmen,” Jon believed he heard her say. He was tired; he didn’t believe he could move let alone think coherently.

“Princess!” Jon heard from outside, “Pirates have taken the Water Gardens.”

Immediately, Jon’s eyes opened and he went to grab his clothes. He grabbed his sword and turned to Arianne. “Stay here!” he ordered her, before jumping out of the carriage and sending her away with guards.

Jon came upon the Gardens, a small but beautiful palace with pink walls. Several guards ran with them, spears in their hands, and the Red Viper and his daughter followed. They entered the Gardens and saw that the battle was already taking place, and dirty, ragged-looking pirates fought for their lives. They were losing. There were perhaps thirty of them, around every corner of the Gardens. The Red Viper stabbed two men with his spear and his daughter sliced a man’s belly. Jon, now aware of the situation, seized on his immediate targets.

_The Dornishmen will fight with spears, and get the enemy on the periphery._

Jon remembered King Daeron the First’s words.

_They will not expect overwhelming force in a surprise attack, especially such an attack from their flank. Their shields are useless then._

Jon considered what to do next, and made his decision. He had to work to the Dornishmen’s strength, and allow them to circle their enemy, rather than face random, unexpected enemies to their sides. Jon drew his blade and rushed toward the sides of the Gardens. He struck at a pirate’s blade, forcing him to retreat back into the center of Gardens where other men fought. He continued this, skirting around the Gardens. Already, a circle was forming around them. It was awkward, fighting around pools, and many men found themselves falling in the water, or being drowned. A large pirate jumped out of a pool and swung a blade at Jon. Jon dodged it, and quickly spun his blade and struck the pirate in his neck. An older pirate threw sand in his eyes, making him wince, and then another pirate nearly struck him in the head. Jon ducked, and headbutted him, making him fall in the pool, before raising his blade to the old pirate’s neck. The old man dropped his weapon and begged for mercy. Jon might have let him live, if another pirate didn’t come behind him. He stabbed the old man and quickly turned and struck at the other pirate. By the time the battle was over, a group of Dornish guards had the men trapped, spears all around them. The pirates gave up. Jon then realized he was covered in dirt. The Red Viper was speaking with his daughter, when Jon felt the need to speak to him.

“Arianne,” Jon said, “Is she safe?”

“She and my daughter Tyene are perfectly fine, and on their way here,” Oberyn said. Jon looked around the Gardens; this is not the welcome he expected.

“What has happened here?” he asked Oberyn, “Pirates at the Gardens. There’s nothing here save for kids and pools.” Then Jon realized he hadn’t seen any children. Caleotte’s books insisted that kids were all around the Water Gardens.

“We do not know,” Oberyn said sadly, “We have found many of the children; most locked themselves inside, and others we found had been captured.”

“But why?” Jon asked, “Why here?”

Oberyn looked at the young prince, curiosity in his eyes. Jon felt like he was being evaluated. “You wish to know, Your Grace, then ask them.” And the Red Viper pointed to the group of pirates on their knees, their hands tied. Jon then remembered Moat Cailin; he remembered interrogating the ironborn and learning of their attack on the Twins. It would only be expedient to know what else they may have done. Jon left the Viper and went to the pirates, intent on getting every answer.

But he didn’t. Not only were the pirates playing mute and dumb, if they weren’t already, but now the Prince of Dorne was dead. As the Water Gardens were being cleaned, and prisoners prepared for transport, Jon went to Arianne. She was speaking with a large man with an axe, obviously a man from Essos.

“Ari,” Jon said, before he wrapped his arms around her. The Essosi man sadly walked away and said he would speak to her again. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t say a word about his good-father.

“Jon,” Arianne said, her tone distant, “I’m not upset. Just, now I must think.”

Jon allowed her her time and by the next day a funeral was held for the Dornish Prince. It was quick, but Arianne and Oberyn both agreed that the Prince would want something small, at the Gardens. After that, they rode for Sunspear. As they came upon the Shadow Town of Sunspear, Jon couldn’t help but turn to Arianne. She wasn’t crying. He had seen many a daughter cry after a lost father. She wasn’t upset, at least not visually. Rather, she seemed unaffected. It made him uncomfortable, how a daughter could feel so little for her father. But then again, would Jon feel bad if he lost _certain_ family members?

Once they met with Nymeria Sand, another of the Red Viper’s bastards, Jon was only to curious as to what was going on with Arianne.

He rode up to Tyene as they continued toward the Tower of the Sun. “What is wrong with her?" Jon asked. "She’s just lost a father.” He saw Arianne riding forward, out of earshot.

“Your Grace,” Tyene said, “To her, she’s only gained a title.”

Jon found the words dark, and would remember to find out what exactly she meant. Was Arianne more concerned about her new power as ruling Princess of Dorne, than her own father?

_What does that say of her? What does that mean for me?_

“I must ask, Your Grace,” Tyene said, “You must think that my cousin hated her father. Do you hate your brother?”

“I don’t hate him,” Jon explained, “I don’t like him. I enjoy not bending to him.” Where the words came from Jon couldn’t say. He simply spoke. He was acting more rashly, since Aegon's insult. But every time mention of his family came up, how he felt about them, he remembered his mother. He remembered how he would always try to honor her memory, and love his family for her. He wished he could.

“Well then, Your Grace,” Tyene said, before riding past him.

As they continued up to the Tower, Jon noted that the Red Viper was oddly quiet. His brother’s death likely weighed on his mind. He was considered a jovial man by all (his tendency to mass produce bastards was evidence of that), and an arrogant fighter. In truth, Jon didn’t care for the man. He knew how he poisoned Lord Yronwood and earned his name. It was too deadly a name for such a cowardly act. As he did with every arrogant knight, Jon thought little of him. Ser Arthur could have beat him easily.

Jon and Arianne made love for the final time that night, on their new bed.

_Our bed._

He would have to get used to the Dornish customs, he knew. As Arianne laid on him, he wondered what his new life would be like.

By morning, it was clear that it would be hectic. Jon had promised to finally take Edric Dayne under his wing and now they had a fealty ceremony to worry about. Jon and Arianne walked about the Tower, down to the Old Castle, and she had shown him his new servants. Arianne wore a beautiful blue dress, which showed considerably more cleavage than her other dresses. Jon tried not to say anything about it. Dorne promised such things.

“This is my cousin, some places removed,” Arianne said, pointing to an old man, “Manfrey Martell, castellan of Sunspear.”

“Well met, Ser Manfrey,” Jon said, extending his hand.

Ser Manfrey shook, and looked to Arianne. “Your Grace,” he said, “Ari, are we to call you ‘Your Grace’ as well now?” the man joked.

“Not yet,” Arianne said with a smile.

Manfrey laughed, then became silent. “Forgive me,” Manfrey eventually said, “I should have been at the Gardens. I could have-“

“It’s nothing,” Arianne said, “Now we must move on, and your Princess demands your hand in introducing our guests.”

The same large Essosi man later walked up to them, now wearing shining armor and the same melancholy expression. “Areo,” Arianne said, before walking to him and hugging him. “Jon, this is Areo Hotah, main guard for House Nymeros Martell.”

While still hugging her, the man reached out his hand and shook Jon’s hand. “Your Grace,” he said. It was clear he felt deeply for her.

At that, the man left and Jon continued walking with Arianne. It felt odd being led around, but this strange place made it a requirement. They talked about the fealty ceremony. Lords from all across Dorne were to pledge their allegiance to her, and Arianne made sure Jon knew each of them. Part of Jon wished to ask if Arianne wanted to change into something more modest, but thought against it. He needed to get used to Dornish culture and dress. As they entered the throne room, (well, what was once the throne room of Dorne), they came upon a crowd of men and women. It reminded Jon of the throne room at King’s Landing, only smaller, hotter, and with brown-sandy walls. A young man approached, with a silky red beard. He had several chains around his neck.

“Princess, Your Grace,” the man said and bowed, “I am maester Myles, new from the citadel.”

“Maester,” Arianne said, looking at the man and smiling while biting her lip. Her smile made Jon upset. “Hmm, yes, I believe we sent for you. You may pick up where Caleotte cannot.”

“Yes, Princess,” Myles said, “My focus is on medical concerns, examinations and the like.”

Arianne smirked and waved the man away with a thank you and farewell. Jon did not like how she looked at him, but he did not dwell on it.

As they approached their high seats, Arianne whispered to Jon.

“You do know who will speak first?” she asked.

“You will,” Jon answered.

“And who are the first three lords and ladies we’ll meet?” she quizzed him.

“Lord Tremond Gargalan of Salt Shore, Lord Harman Uller of Hellholt, and Lady Blackmont of Blackmont,” Jon said, remembering the maester’s notes. Ari nodded and the ceremony began. The castle seneschal, a blind old man named Ricasso, entered the room, guided by a young boy.

“Lords and Ladies, we have lost our good Prince, but the gods have blessed us with a new reign,” the old man said, “Princess Arianne of House Nymeros Martell, and Prince Consort Jon of House Targaryen.” Ricasso walked away, and Lord Gargalan approached. He was of dark skin, and though not an old man, also not a young one. He swore to serve the Princess, House Martell and he knelt. Simple enough.

Next was Lord Uller. According to Arianne, Jon needed to watch out for the man. He approached, his expression one of a dangerous man, his hair long and his nose long and unattractive. “Princess,” he said “I swear to serve House Martell.”

Arianne turned to Jon. He did not swear fealty to the Princess specifically. “My Lord,” Jon said, drawing attention from the crowd. He hoped to be silent. “Do you swear yourself to Princess Arianne and all her descendants?”

“House Uller does swear that, Your Grace,” he said and knelt.

_Close enough._

Arianne waved the man away and looked annoyed at Jon, but then they looked to Lady Blackmont. She was light-skinned, and clearly a stony Dornish woman. “I swear myself and House Blackmont to the Princess Arianne and her descendants,” the woman said and knelt.

“We are glad to have House Blackmont on our side,” Arianne said.

“And I must thank you, and the Prince,” the woman said, “My children, Perros and Jynessa were at the Gardens. They are safe now.”

“We are glad they are safe and returned to you, my lady,” Jon said. It was hard to believe that such a sweet woman was a descendant of the Vulture Kings. But Jon knew not to judge yet; he had not seen her talons.

The ceremony continued. They heard from Lord Santagar of Spottswood, who Arianne was particularly unhappy to listen to. He had with him a young girl, his heir named Sylva, who had a thousand freckles.

“Being from Spottswood doesn’t help with the nicknames,” Arianne whispered to him.

The full-blown redhead, Lady Nymella Toland approached, thanking the Prince for saving her daughters Teora and Valena, friends of Arianne. Lord Dagos Manwoody approached as well, wearing the sigil of a skull with a crown. Mayhaps instinct made Jon uncomfortable at hearing the title "Lord of the Kingsgrave." Lord Qorgyle of Sandstone knelt before them, and his sigil, three scorpions, piqued Jon’s interest.

_So this is the House that ended Daeron’s Conquest._

Lord Trebor Jordayne of the Tor knelt, with his heir and daughter Myria, as did Lord Wyls of the Boneway. Eventually a large brown-haired man, Lord Anders of House Yronwood, finally approached.

“The bloodroyals are proud to serve our new Princess, and House Martell,” Lord Yronwood said. The bloodroyals, the Yronwoods called themselves, once the strongest rulers of Dorne, certainly felt pride in their titles. Jon noted to not forget that the Yronwoods had rebelled against the Martells more than once.

Lord Ryon Allyrion knelt before them, and on his side was his bastard son. He was a strong man with long hair, an obvious Salty Dornishman. Jon was about to wave them away when the bastard spoke. “Princess Arianne,” the man spoke. He was giving her a particular smile, one that made Jon very unhappy. Jon believed he was staring at her chest. “We are happy to have you back in Sunspear. The old place was lost its beauty without you to grace it.”

Arianne smiled, as if she was humored by his words. “Thank you, Ser Daemon,” she said, “I heard about your tourney at Ashford. Thank you for coming all the way here, instead of Godsgrace.”

“To see you, _my_ Princess,” the man said, “I would travel to Qarth and back.”

“Thank you,” Jon interrupted, quite loudly, “We have others to meet, Ser Daemon Sand.”

The damned man smiled and nodded to Arianne and walked away. Arianne looked at him as if it what he did was hilarious. Then she grabbed his hand and put in on her thigh. A forward action, but nothing too disgraceful for a prince. If this was her way of playing with him, she was successful.

Lord Dalt of Lemonwood approached and knelt, and with him was his son Audrey Dalt. “Drey,” Arianne said with joy, “I am happy to see you.”

“Arianne,” he said, then looked to Jon, “Forgive me, Princess. I am glad you’re back. Nymeria and I were excited to see you.”

He did not give that same fucking smile as Daemon did, but the man irked Jon just the same. After they left, Arianne whispered to Jon. “He’s a friend,” she said. As if that made his lack of propriety any better.

Lord Franklyn Fowler of Skyreach, knelt before them. He was a strong man, and his nickname of the “Old Hawk” surely meant he was willful. His daughters, two blonde, twin girls, knelt with him.

Lady Ashara Dayne approached, with her bastard daughter Lyarra. After she swore herself, she turned to Jon. “Your Grace,” she said. Jon looked down to her, and understood why his uncle fell for this black-haired, purple-eyed beauty. “I believe my daughter looks quite like your mother, and so yourself; I hope the two of you get to know her.”

Jon looked at the younger Dayne, Lyarra Sand. She smiled, and had the same purple eyes. He was happy to see his mother’s side of the family. “I would be happy to know my cousin,” Jon said.

“And I wish you healthy children,” Lady Dayne said, before going back.

Arianne looked to Jon and smiled, and Jon touched her hand. It was obvious to both that they needed to conceive quickly. Such was expected of a high lord, a prince no less.

As the ceremony ended, Jon saw a face he truly, truly, did not wish to see. “Your Grace!” Cersei said, finding her way before him. Her blonde hair almost glowed, and she wore a long yellow dress.

“Lady Cersei,” Arianne said, “I am surprised to see you. This is a fealty ceremony, for Dornish lords and ladies.” Arianne gave her an annoyed look.

“Yes, I offer something else,” Cersei said, and little Myrcella Lannister approached. She was wearing the daintiest white dress, and her hair was in blonde ringlets. She was beautiful, doll-like. She kept her head down, contrite. “We have travelled from Casterly Rock to King’s Landing and now to Sunspear. Princess, I offer my daughter, Myrcella Lannister, as your handmaiden.”

Many of the lords and ladies looked around, confused, as did Arianne. Westerlanders, travelling so far, just to offer a handmaiden? This certainly was unheard of. Jon, however, guessed why she was here. Even after getting married, he wasn’t out of Cersei’s reach.

“My Lady, this is unexpected,” Arianne said.

_What could she do now? Insult them in front of everyone, after they travelled so far._

“I accept,” Arianne finally said, “I hope Lady Myrcella adapts well to the Dornish climate.”

Cersei smiled and Myrcella stared up at Jon.

_By the gods, Cersei._

Myrcella was wearing dark makeup around her eyes, and green sparkles around her cheek, and her small lips were in a pouting smile. Cersei was mad enough to dress her four-and-ten year old daughter as an innocent maid, but with the look of a woman of the night. Jon choked up, and he could tell many of the lords around them did the same. He hoped he could control his self. Arianne looked hard at Jon, then to Myrcella.

“Lady Myrcella, I am glad to have you at court,” Arianne said.

“I am glad to be here, Princess, Your Grace,” and she looked up innocently at Jon.

_I should keep her away from me._

 

After the main event, a feast was held in their honor. Jon tried to maintain an open mind about Dornish food, and ate quickly, while Arianne spoke to many of the Sand Snakes. Then at the end of the table he saw the light-haired boy eating, and looking up to his aunt and cousin. Jon decided then he needed to get up.

“Edric,” he said, as he approached both Daynes, “Lyarra, Lady Ashara.”

“No need to be formal, Your Grace,” Lady Dayne said, “I am glad you’ve taken my nephew for a squire.”

“I am glad to have him,” Jon said. Then he tried to remember was Ser Arthur told him all those years ago. “Edric, your squireship starts tomorrow. It will be hard work, but I’ll make a knight out of you yet.”

“I shall serve, Your Grace,” Edric said. He looked almost afraid of Jon.

“That won’t do,” Jon said. He wanted Edric to forget his princely titles. “ ‘Ser’, will work. Serve me as well as you would a simple hedge knight."

“But, Ser,” Edric said, “I shouldn’t treat a prince like a hedge knight.”

“Then mayhaps you should improve your opinion of hedge knights,” Jon said.

“Aye,” Jon heard from behind him, “Wouldn’t want to treat the spawn of Rhaegar as a prince.”

Suddenly, Jon felt like he did around Aegon. Jon turned and saw a man of silver hair with several black streaks. “Gerold,” Lady Dayne said, upset, “This is my cousin; they call him-“

“Men call me Darkstar, and I am of the night,” the man said.

Darkstar walked toward Jon, and smiled. “Ser Gerold,” Jon said, “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“I am so very glad to finally meet you,” the knight said, “You’re the one that ended Corbray’s life. Impressive.”

“Aye,” Jon said, eyeing the man. He seemed overconfident, even more than Daemon Sand.

“Now you’re in Dorne,” he said, “How the gods have blessed us. I already feel the need to speak “Your Grace” here and there.”

“Gerold,” Lady Dayne said.

“And he squires my cousin,” Darkstar said, “How the royals have given us favor. I am curious: are you indeed the bastard of King Rhaegar? You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”

Jon immediately went to grab Darkstar by his hair and balled his other hand in a fist. Edric Dayne and Lyarra Sand watched, fully expecting a brawl. Then Arianne approached. “Jon, Lady Ashara,” Arianne said jovially.

Before Jon could say anything, Darkstar disappeared, smiling into obscurity. Jon gave him a look of hatred. Arianne touched her husband’s arm and looked curiously to Lady Dayne. “What’s wrong with my husband?” she asked. “Hello, Edric, it is good to have you with us.” She smiled at the young boy, who bowed and thanked her.

“Darkstar happened,” Lady Ashara deadpanned.

“Oh,” Arianne said knowingly, “Jon, you mustn’t concern yourself with him. He’s a cruel-hearted man. He’ll learn to respect his new Princess and consort soon enough. It’s a shame, Ashara. Such a pretty man and such a terrible soul.”

“Arianne,” Jon said, still upset, “I mean to stab that man. Don’t call him pretty.”

Arianne chuckled. “Stab away,” she said, “But don’t fret over my opinions of his looks. You know, I’ve seen how you acted around Daemon and Drey. I wonder if my husband is jealous.”

Jon tried to push Darkstar from his mind, and focus on the accusations of his wife. He was at a feast, in his new home; he had to be jovial, or at least try to. “How could I be?” Jon said, putting his arm around her protectively, “They’ve never had what I had.” Jon was trying to be positive.

Arianne smiled sadly at Jon, and then at Lady Ashara and Lyarra. Edric was sent away by Ashara. “I suppose he’s not adjusted to Dornish ways,” Lyarra said, “Thinks all women maids for some reason.”

Immediately Jon looked to Arianne, and she smiled. “Don’t be so upset,” she said, looking at his surprised expression.

 

When they were back in their quarters, it had only gotten worse.

“Who else?!” Jon yelled as Arianne walked around him.

“What does it matter who else?” Arianne asked. She clearly didn’t understand that it was not right for a wife to sleep with men her husband would have to see, men she called friends. “You’re my husband and now you get to fuck me. And to think I wore this dress for you.”

“You showed half your chest to every lord and lady in Dorne,” Jon said, “How will they respect you, respect me, if they know other men have graced your bed? I'm your husband. I should be the only one to know you intimately.”

“First, I can dress any way I want. Second, don't act like you're a fucking septa," Arianne argued, "I know you’ve had maids in your bed. What? You can have lovers but I can't?"

"Lovers?" Jon asked, "I haven't touched or looked at another woman since we were bethrothed."

"Ha," Arianne laughed, "I saw the way you looked at Myrcella Lannister. The little girl made your cock hard, didn't she? Thought about riding the little lion?" Jon stared at her angrily, but Arianne didn't relent. She was just as burning in her fury. "You know, I wouldn't be upset if you did fuck her," she challenged, "I'd only ask that you allowed me the same respect to please myself how I wanted."

_Dalt, Daemon Sand, Darkstar._

"No," Jon deadpanned, "My wife will not touch anyone."

 

Arianne became silent and walked towards him, and held his head in her hands. “Lord Husband, I do enjoy when you tell me what to do, in bed. But are you trying to tell me who I can and cannot sleep with?” she spoke, venom on her tongue. "Would you presume you can control the Princess of Dorne?"

Jon was furious. The thought of his wife being given to another man, it was insulting. A graver insult than anything Aegon had ever said to him. But Jon looked up at Arianne. She was so beautiful, so wild, and by all laws of gods and men, she was his. He wouldn't leave her, just so she could fuck some Dornish bastard behind his back. No, he was a dragon, and she was his.

_She is the most beautiful woman in Westeros, and no one else will enjoy her._

"I will," Jon said.

"Hmm," she moaned, then she pushed Jon on the bed and got on top of him, "And how will you do that?" she asked slowly. Jon was still angry, and she was only making it worse. His hand was shaking, and Arianne saw it. "Ah, you want to hit me. Do it. Do it and see if I'm still eager to be loyal to you. See if Areo wouldn't run in here and cut you in half. Do it, my dragon."

 

**Arianne**

He was so close. The fury in his eyes, matching her own. The damned man tried to lecture her as if she was a disobedient child, like she couldn't fuck who she wanted, when she wanted. Northerners were always the quickest to jealousy. But now, he was close to breaking. The right insults, and the right suggestions, led her here, on his lap, looking down at him.

"Do it, my dragon," she said. 

_If he does it, I have provoked him. If he can't, he concedes to my demands. Either way, I'm in control._

Jon was silent, thinking, and angry. "I want to know the name of every man you've had in your bed," Jon said.

_It's not like I've only done it on a bed._

"Why,  _dear husband_?" Arianne mocked. "Do you wonder if any of them were better than you?"

Her mocking might have gone too far as Jon looked at her, fuming. "I mean to kill every one of them," he said, to which Arianne stopped and paused. "I won't hit you; I'll just provide a disincentive to anyone coming near you."

It was clear that he was winning this now. "And then the story gets out," Arianne said, "About every man your wife has slept with. And won't your big brother love making jipes about that?" 

_Now I'm winning._

"Listen, dear husband," Arianne said, pulling down her dress, "I know what you want: control." Jon stared as she revealed her large tits, nipples already hard from all their arguing. He tried not to appear like he was staring at them. "So why don't you take it?" Arianne smiled darkly as she reached down Jon's shirt. Then she pulled down her dress. Her cunt was soaking since Jon started yelling at her. "You want to be the only one in my bed? Then be." She could feel Jon's erection. He was horny, despite himself. He still wanted to yell, but Ari knew this part of the game very well. She could tell he was questioning himself; they all did. Then he reached up her shoulders and grasped her neck. Ari smiled dangerously. She didn't know if he would hurt her or fuck her, and that made it so much better. When he didn't do anything, she started to laugh, and then a palm smacked her right in the cheek. She looked at Jon, surprised. It was a light strike, but it changed everything. 

_Is he a dragon, or a madman?_

"I am the only one that can touch you," Jon ordered, trying to maintain control of himself. He still held her neck with his other hand. 

Ari tried to question him, to fight him and think of a clever retort. But now, now she couldn't help herself. She got far enough in her manipulation today. Now she could play. 

"Hit me again," she said.

Jon looked uncertain, then slapped her lightly.

Arianne turned back to face him, ever more challenging. "Harder," she ordered. And he slapped her. She was dripping.

"Harder!" she yelled, and Jon slapped her again, full of rage. Suddenly he turned them around and had her on her back. He quickly pulled off his breaches and felt her wet cunt with his cock. He entered her, making Ari moan, and he kept his grip on her neck. "Harder! Or do you want to see me fuck Drey Dalt again?!"

Jon slapped her hard and she felt his cock twitch inside her. Every time Jon slapped her, his cock got harder and her cunt squeezed him. Then he began fucking her, using her neck as leverage. He fucked her hard and Arianne felt so good. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head every time he pounded her, and soon she only saw stars. 

 

In the morning, they sat up in bed, laying next to each other. They remained naked, and tired. "Jon," Arianne said, "You have to learn to get used to Dorne."

"Aye," Jon said, "But I believe the real challenge will be getting used to you. I didn't, well, mean to-"

Arianne stopped him. "Aye, I believe you're right."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my most detailed chapter. Did you pick up on all the subtle hints?


	11. What is beneath gold?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to change my decision to make the Swanns lords of the Stormlands as they did fight for Robert Baratheon. Shouldn't change anything to much, but now it's the Conningtons. Still unsure if I'll keep the Rogares for Arianne. This was always the difficult choice.

**Rennifer**

 

"What was his name again? The one with the firey hair?" Rennifer asked. 

Rennifer was underneath the decaying castle of Ghaston Grey, tallying the prisoners in the dungeons with a new guard. It had been a slow day, and talking with the boy was a good way to pass the time. 

"Who?" the young man asked. "You know, old man, I wonder if you're losing it. Started saying you were a dragon blood and now talking about some fire-haired man."

The boy was an idiot. He was likely a bastard of the Tor or Yronwood, and a simple-minded one at that. Why else would he be sent to such a godsforsaken place like Ghaston Grey?

Rennifer Longwaters tried to keep his calm, and he wiped his brow, which was covered in sweat. 

_Dorne, of all the places to be sent._

Ever since he was sent from the Red Keep down this hellish island prison, punishment for allowing Jaime Lannister out of his cell, Rennifer contemplated simply leaving the island and living the rest of his short life on a farm in the Reach. Dorne was too hot and Ghaston Grey too isolated, but soon, mayhaps, he could leave. If he earned enough coin.

"First, boy," Rennifer said, turning around and facing the boy, "I do have a little dragon in me. Elaena Targaryen; she's my ancestor. Had a bastard named Waters, who changed it to Longwaters. He was a great knight. You have a dragonseed before you." Rennifer puffed his chest out and tried to look strong, but the boy only smirked.

"Right," the boy said, "I can almost see you wearing a crown."

Rennifer gave up and breathed out deeply. What did it matter? 

"Fine," Rennifer said, turning back to his tallies, "But help me remember who the red-headed knight was. I'm sure you know the story: was Aegon the Fourth's knight, denied a place on the Kingsguard, rose in rebellion."

The boy touched his chin, thinking. "Daemon Blackfyre?" The boy asked.

"Don't be mad!" Rennifer said, "Daemon was the pretender king, not the knight."

Rennifer and the boy walked down an old passage of Ghaston Grey. The walls were coming apart, due to erosion from the ocean. Whoever decided an island prison would be a good idea deserved a good flogging. 

Rennifer then took notice of a group of new prisoners in their cells. They were either ironborn or pirates who had been captured along the Tor, and awaited trial. They remained mostly silent, an odd choice for an otherwise roudy bunch. One man, Rennifer noticed, had long black hair was shaking his knee and twitching, and he quietly murmured " 'neath the gold, 'neath the gold, 'neath the gold." 

"Quiet," Rennifer ordered, "no gold here, no gold anywhere."

The man continued murmuring, but he was quiet about it.

_Pirates. They care only for coin. But at least they're quiet._

"Mudd was the knight's name," the boy said, "it was someone of House Mudd. I remember a maester saying the Mudds rose against the dragons, and thanks to Dornish spears they lost."

"No," Rennifer said, turning away from the prisoners and continuing his tallies, "it was something in the name. Something different."

"Well I don't know," the boy said, "What's it matter? The old Black Dragons are all dead and nothing matters 'bout them now."

"It's important because history is important," Rennifer explained, "You're young, but soon you'll see that history is all we have to give us purpose, give us any claim on our rights, lands, pride. It's the reason things are as they are today."

"If you say so Ser Dragonseed," the boy mocked. "I'm more interested in the new Black Dragon at Sunspear. Why do you think Prince Doran invited him to Dorne? He's like to challenge Queen Elia's son, try to take his throne. Did you hear what he did at his wedding? Tried to chop Prince Aegon in half!"

"Bah," Rennifer said, "Nothing like that happened. He'd've never made it passed Tumbleton if it did. Worry not, it's a strategy. Little Northern boy trapped around the Viper and his seeds; he's like to be forgotten."

"My father doesn't like him," the boy said, "Said the Next Blackfyre should've taken the Black, 'specially after that display o' treason."

"Who's your father, boy?" Rennifer asked.

"He's Lord of Kingsgrave; well he's second in line," the boy said. "He says most Dornish lords don't like the Black Prince; say he's mad and jealous of Prince Aegon."

"Alright, then why do you think Doran sent him here?" Rennifer asked.

The boy tried to answer but couldn't. 

"I reckon he's here for the same reason I am," Rennifer affirmed. "Punishment."

Rennifer continued his counting. A small window near the ceiling of the prison showed that it was bright outside and that the winds were picking up. The Sea of Dorne was clearly doing damage to any sailor outside.

Then Rennifer finally got an idea. "Ah yes, it was Ball. He was the knight, the knight who rebelled." The boy was utterly uninterested, but Rennifer continued. "Quentyn Ball struck down all of Lady Penrose's sons, all 'cept for one."

"Why would he leave one alive?" The boy asked, now interested. 

"The Black Dragons wanted to rule," Rennifer explained, "They wanted to seem honorable. Now, his nickname. What was it?" Rennifer thought. "They say he was a brash and angry man, had a mess of red hair. Oh, now I remember what they called him: Fireball!"

Suddenly the sound of a crash blasted through the prison and a mass of the prison wall broke off. Dust and rubble fell on Rennifer and the young guard, and the crashing continued. Rennifer opened his eyes to see a gaping hole in the castle of Ghaston Grey, and outside in the water below was a golden ship. Rennifer then saw a trebuchet aboard the ship fire a green flaming ball directly at him.

_Wild Fire._

He panicked. 

"Run!" he said to the boy, as he got up and ran down the corridor, hoping to find a way outside. The boy, however, remained covered in rubble and the fire ball blasted him directly. Rennifer was sprayed with his blood.

Covered in blood, Rennifer ran down the corridor, when he saw several of the prison cells now open, their bars blasted and mangled. Before he could escape, the same prisoner with the long hair stepped into his path. He was still smiling, and bleeding from his mouth, and Rennifer was trapped.

"What is this?!" Rennifer yelled, panicked and confused.

"What's beneath the gold?!" the man asked loudly.

Rennifer was too dumbstruck to speak.

"The Bitter Steel!" the man yelled loudly, before another blast struck the ground beneath him. Rennifer fell down the castle, tumbling into the ocean below.

 

**Jon**

Jon was still fuming over what Arianne had said to him, what he had discovered. She had laid with other men, an offense in some lord's eyes. Part of him felt guilty for how he treated her in response, but she never wavered or apologized, only taunted him more. He wanted to know each man who touched her, who could possibly look at him with a mocking, knowing eye like Daemon Sand had. He wanted action, he wanted to end it. He wanted their heads. But he relented, after all of Arianne's yelling, her cries and stubborn declarations, about how she was independent and not an obedient northern maid, how he didn't have the right to punish her people for her decisions. It irked Jon, especially now that he had to spend his days as Prince Consort, laboring under a wife who cared not for his pride.

It was wearing on him, as were the events of late. His father had not yet reached out to him, but surely word would come. Already Jon could tell that the Dornish lords cared little for him, or saw him as a pawn. When word of his display at the wedding reached Sunspear, he saw only hate from them, save for the Daynes. The Old Hawk and the Ullers looked at him with scorn, and there was a rumor that Lord Yronwood called him an upstart with a death wish. He knew it was inevitable; anyone who challenged Queen Elia's children received only spite from Dorne.

Jon was used to those looks, and learned them well. Now, however, there was no Kingsguard to spar with, no Ser Arthur or Barriston to guide him; he had not a friend near him.

Jon walked down to the Shadow Town of Sunspear. The dusty town was almost bustling, as Dornish lords slowly left the castle to their respective holds. Jon last remembered Arianne in her solar, being prepared by Caleotte for her new responsibilities as Princess of Dorne. Jon was fine to leave her to her own devices, since they fought. And now he wanted to act. And he exactly how he could.

"Edric," Jon called out. Immediately his young squire rushed to his side, wearing a dark purple shirt and dirty breeches. He carried with him a satchel.

"Aye, Ser," Edric responded.

"Have you sharpened my sword and cleaned my boots?" Jon asked. It was an instruction he gave the boy early in the morning. Jon hated making the boy do such menial tasks, but it would make him humble.

"Aye, Ser," Edric said, showing him a clean sword and boots from his satchel.

"The blade, draw it," Jon ordered.

Edric looked afraid. The blade was almost as big as him, but he drew it slowly. 

"Most Dornishmen carry spears," Jon said, remembering Caleotte's books, "But the Daynes are one of the few houses that pride themselves specifically on swordsmanship." Jon grabbed the sword's hilt and held it firmly. "You must grasp it firmly."

"But, Ser, it's too heavy for me," Edric complained.

"Aye, it is," Jon said, "That's why I'll carry it most often; but you have to get used to the weight too, if you're to be Sword of the Morning one day."

Edric smiled at that. Jon looked around, noticing that Lords Qorgyle and Uller had just left on their sand steeds, their parties in tow. 

"Where are the pirates being held?" he asked.

"They're with Prince Oberyn," Edric replied.

"Good, take me there," Jon ordered.

Edric guided him through the Shadow Town to where the prisoners were being held. Edric explained that the Spear Tower was too good for them. Jon entered a room in which Oberyn, several Dornish guards and the Obara Sand stood. In cells were near a dozen pirates, and one laid flat on a board, bound and tortured. Edric looked terrified.

Oberyn, seeing Edric's expression, walked him and Jon out of the room.

"Prince Oberyn," Jon said, curious, "How goes the interrogation?"

"Prince Consort," he said. Oberyn turned, sweating. He had clearly been working the man for a time. "Well enough," he said, "They've spilled what they could in fear what they haven't in pain."

"And what have you learned?" Jon asked.

"Yes, I believe a Prince Consort has a responsibility to know," Oberyn said, to which Jon almost rolled his eyes. "They were hired by a sellsword company in Tyrosh," he said, "To help raid the Water Gardens; they were meant to hold it after the company left them unexpectedly. A terrible deal, seeing as they were left alone and unprotected."

"This company" Jon said. "Who are they?"

"These men are deaf and dumb," Oberyn said, "Didn't care who hired them so long as they were paid. Many were apparently surprised when their benefactors left them on the Dornish coast."

"So they were without options. Then why did they kill Prince Doran?" Jon asked.

"That," Oberyn started, serious, "I do not know. Edric, get the Prince's letters." Edric left the room. "Look at my hands, covered in blood and tears." Oberyn show them. "I know men in pain will say anything, but from them I've heard nothing substantial. I can only fathom that they didn't know."

"What did you hear?" Jon asked.

"The common excuses," Oberyn said, "That they were set up, that they are common sailors or merchants and that the sellswords did it all. One man said it was a blue dragon that paid them to hold the gardens, but this was after he lost several teeth."

"Pirates," Jon said, thinking, "I thought there have always been pirates on the Stepstones."

"Aye," Oberyn said, "not none go inland. They stay on the coast."

"Ser," Edric suddenly said. He was looking at them from a door, "there's a raven for you, from the king."

Jon looked to Oberyn, who eyed him suspiciously. "You're still a Prince," Oberyn said. "Go ahead."

Jon left Oberyn and walked back with Edric. He was taken to maester Caleotte, who gave him the letter.

"This isn't a private letter, Your Grace," Caleotte explained, "It's a declaration, sent to every major House in the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon curiously read the letter, which on the margin had a three-headed dragon.

_Pirates have plagued the coasts of Dorne and the Stormlands. Their attacks are planned and funded, and among their assaults was an attack on the Water Gardens, in which Prince Doran Martell was killed. The Crown demands their defeat and to know who funds them._

_This is a call to all knights and major Houses to end this threat immediately, and to pledge either your sword or your ships in this cause._

_Princess and Prince Consort of Dorne, Arianne Martell and Jon Targaryen, are ordered to lead this venture, as their shores are in the most immediate danger. Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Gulian Swann, shall join them, and any assistance from other houses will be greatly rewarded._

_Hand of the King, and Lord of Griffin's Roost, Jon Connington_

"The King is calling for battle," Caleotte said, "Prince Doran shall have justice."

"We're to fight a war?" Jon asked.

"Not a war," Caleotte explained, "A simple military exercise. Like in the destruction of te Kingswood Brotherhood, the King requires his liege Lords to protect the realm. Please follow me, Your Grace."

Jon was partly disoriented. He was already having trouble adjusting to Dorne, and dealing with his new wife. But he felt comfortable at last; he could do what he was good at, and put down a new threat, one which seemed ever more curious. Jon quickly began to follow the maester, already considering how many soldiers he could muster.

"Oh my mistake," Caleotte stopped and said, reaching for another letter. "That is not all, Your Grace. My mind is starting to leave me these days. Here is your letter from the king."

Jon stopped and looked at the letter. It was unadorned, simple. Jon opened and read the letter.

_Jon,_

_What occurred at your wedding with Aegon is unacceptable. It is dangerous for princes to compete, and had you not been a prince you know the guards would have killed you. Your disappearance afterwards only increases my need to write this letter._

_I understand your frustration. But Aegon is my trouble, not yours. I'll not hear of any issues you have with him, and expect you to arrive at Dragonstone after he's made its lord, and make peace with him. Know that I have corrected him for his indiscretion, and will continue to correct him._

_I have set you on a task in Myr to find out who funds these incursions along our coasts. There are rumors that it is either Viserys, or the Golden Company, or both. Why my mad brother may have done this matters not, if he is in fact a traitor. You may treat him just the same._

_You shall fight the enemy on the seas but also by removing their source of coin. I have given you this task not only because I know you will succeed but also to remind you of your place as Prince. I am your Father and your King. You do not defy me, or embarrass me. You knew I was to speak with you, so you left. I will not tolerate this again. And do not forget that our family needs you to fight for them, and now that includes your wife, and it will always include your brother._

_Once Rhaenys, Aegon, and Daenerys have married, you will soon have young nephews and nieces who will need their uncle's love and support._

_On that subject, Aegon shall marry Margaery Tyrell in two moons. Daenerys shall marry in three moons time the son of the Lord Gulian Swann, Donnel. And Rhaenys shall marry the heir of House Rogare of Lys, Maegyr, at a time not yet established. While you are to be preoccupied on your mission and unable to attend Aegon's marriage, I do demand that you attend Daenerys's._

_King Rhaegar I Targaryen_

Jon was stone-faced. It was a condemnation, but a kind one. His father wanted to end every issue he had with Aegon, and lead him on a new mission in Myr. He was still to be a dutiful prince, and Rhaegar wouldn't let him forget it. It could have been worse, he knew; he could've been ordered back to King's Landing. In that way, he knew his father had some sympathy for him.

However, what soon possessed Jon's mind was the information that Aegon, Rhaenys and Dany were to be married, and soon. Aegon would take his Tyrell maid and be fine, but Dany? She was too rebellious, too free spirited. She said she wouldn't let herself be married off. Did she know her brother already decided for her? And Rhaenys, the only other black-haired Targaryen. Jon could see the cynicism in her bethrothed; a Lysene husband would give her Valyrian-looking babes. Lord Connington or some other council member probably suggested it. And Jon also knew that Rhaenys certainly didn't care about her children being purple-eyed and silver-haired. Would she fight father, or would she accept? Jon hadn't spoken to her in so long, he didn't know.

Jon swallowed hard. He had to grow up. He had to accept this and move on. Daenerys and Rhaenys would have to be married, and he had pirates to kill. 

"Thank you," Jon said to Caleotte, "Take me to the Princess. Follow me, Edric."

Jon, Edric and Caleotte walked up to the Tower of the Sun and saw Arianne in her solar, talking with maester Myles while Areo stood on guard. She was bending over her desk, as Myles explained a document to her. Jon noticed that her blue dress was even more revealing than bedore, and nearly showed her nipples. She did this on purpose.

"Princess," Caleotte said, drawing their attention. Arianne looked to Jon.

"Maester, Jon," Arianne said, "So we are to prepare ships for battle. Myles and I were already discussing strategy."

_Strategy, right. Not seeing how far you can bend over without that dress popping open._

"Right," Jon said, "We need to get send a raven to Lord Swann, and find every ship worth sailing in Dorne."

"Husband," Arianne said, amused, "These are pirates. Bloody, vicious pirates they are but nothing more. We just need them to lead us to their captain and cut off his head."

Jon was almost too shocked to speak. Did she really not understand?

Myles stood by her, silent, and Caleotte looked up to him.

"We still should send word to Lord Swann," he said, "I'll prepare a raven." Caleotte walked away.

"We need to crush them, before they learn the king is after them," Jon explained, "We get every ship in Dorne and prepare them for battle."

"Jon," Arianne said, "You may know war in the north but in Dorne we don't have many warships. Our ships are trading vessels."

"Then tell Swann to get every ship north ready," Jon said, "And Caleotte," he said to the maester who nearly left the room, "Send a raven to Lords Lannister, Velaryon and Manderly; tell them to ready every ship."

The maester stopped and looked between Arianne and Jon, uncertain.

"Go," Jon ordered. The maester quickly ran out. Edric continued to look up and say nothing. "Edric, prepare my horse. I want to catch lord Qorgyle before he's past the river."

"Don't, Edric," Arianne ordered, "Stay here, fetch your master a chalice of wine."

Edric had the same uncertain look, but when he looked at Jon, Jon gave me a knowing look and a raised eyebrow. 

"I'm sorry, Princess," Edric said, "Must obey, m'lord." Edric ran out even quicker, much to Arianne's displeasure.

"I'll just come back," Myles said nervously, before sauntering away.

Jon and Arianne were left in her solar, alone. 

"So now you try to take control from me," Arianne said, "I am Princess of Dorne. Ruling Princess."

"And I will serve my Princess," Jon spoke slowly, "And win her this battle."

"You defied an order in front of others," she said, "You spoke of honor before, of being respected. How am I to be respected if you don't listen to me?"

Jon had to admit she had a point. But she had enraged him; he needed to act. "I know what I'm doing," Jon explained.

"You don't know Dorne," she responded, "I do. And I am, again, the fucking PRINCESS of Dorne. I will make this kingdom strong again. Do not doubt me."

Jon was silent. She was passionate, driven, defiant. She did not want to be treated as anything less than what she was.

"I didn't kill Audrey Dalt," Jon said.

"Good," Arianne explained, "Because he's one of my closest friends and I won't let you."

"You're taunting me," Jon said, moving closer to her. 

"Hmm, oh the dress," Arianne said, an evil smile on her face, "This is what I usually wear. You know I always wanted the gods to bless me with bountiful breasts and it seems they have. I like to celebrate them." Arianne leaned forward and grinned, ever so sexily.

Jon looked up her, upset.

"You think me wanton," she said, "But I believe you're hypocritical. I see you peaking."

Jon wanted to change the subject. "These pirates are funded by a sellsword company," he said, drawing Arianne's attention, "I believe it's the Golden Company. The King tasked me to go to Myr to find them. I will, after I stop at Tyrosh, and after I wipe them from every Westerosi coast."

Arianne was drawn back to the subject at hand. "You'll need proof for this," she said, "But if you must go, go. I'll handle the coast."

"I can-" Jon started.

"I will," Arianne said, "Myles and I have already routed five of their ships near our coast and another at Ghaston Grey. After Gulian Swann arrives you can go about your mission."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jon said, to which Arianne gave a confused look. Then, she understood.

"Ah," she realized, "You don't want me alone. Think Drey could find his way in my bed. You probably know the Lemonwood is near Sunspear." She taunted him. "Don't you trust me?" Jon only looked more upset. "I'm starting to love that angry, little look you have, it's the one right before you fuck me hard. Worry not, dear husband, uncle Oberyn will watch over me. You can trust him."

If she taunted him again, Jon was going to explode. But she had a point. It would be better to route the Company in before they got wind of King's orders. Jon believed it wasn't uncle Viserys. The man was too soft-hearted and dumb, or both. Jon made a mental note to write to Queen Rhaella, and Daenerys for that matter.

"I'll be off with Edric," Jon explained, "We'll wait for Lord Swann before we decide anything." Jon started to leave.

"Wait, dear husband," Arianne said, "Before you leave, I want you to remember what you said last night. About not touching or looking at another woman. Myrcella!" she called out. Jon turned and saw Myrcella Lannister enter the solar, dressed in a skimpy dress which barely went to her knees, and displayed as much cleavage as Arianne's. She looked up at him, with that same innocent pout.

"My Prince," Myrcella said, in her innocent voice, "Princess Arianne said I might like to try some Dornish wear. I can change it if you like. Oh and-" she stopped cutely, trying to remember her words. "The princess has asked me to serve you as a handmaiden until further notice. I know you have a squire, but I can service you in the home. Would you like for me to bring you wine tonight, or draw you a bath?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renly Baratheon is a landed knight.


	12. Marriage

**Jon**

Jon was in agony. Arianne was playing with him, his pride, and now he had Myrcella lounging around his solar. He needed distractions. It was nearly the end of the day. He had brought back Lord Qorgyle and had ravens sent to each great lord to bring their ships. At the moment he was drinking and reading about naval warfare, but he remained distracted.

"More wine, Your Grace?" Myrcella asked at the end of the room. She was sent out of the room at his command, but reappeared more and more frequently.

"No, Myrcella," Jon said, turning back to his books. He had to stayed focused. He had learned how many Dornish ships there were (there were hardly any) and settled on using Velaryon ships instead. They could hold dozens of archers and support rams. Jon was not used to naval strategy; he fought the Greyjoys almost entirely on land. So he had to prepare with books. He almost felt like Aegon.

"More wine, Your Grace?" Jon heard several minutes later. It was Myrcella, again. He would never prepare with her distracting him. She apparently considered it her mission to see him as much as possible. Jon had sent her away far earlier, only for her to cry about not pleasing the prince. He instead called her back, and give her some responsibility. Now, however, she was getting to him.

Myrcella paced over to him, her petite form growing greater in his vision. She was obviously beautiful. The soft ringets in her blonde hair gave off the smell of apples, and her small fingers clutched the goblet of wine with the utmost grace. She was in even shorter dress than before, but the sheer innocence of her expression, and her high voice, made it so much worse. 

"No, I am fine," Jon said, trying not to sound terribly mean. She was an innocent girl; he needn't be so cruel, especially since her mother surely put her up to this.

"Alright," Myrcella sighed, putting her head down. She looked so disappointed in not helping. "Your Grace, may I speak openly?"

Jon was curious, but happy she was doing something besides prancing around. "You may," Jon said.

"It's just that... you're the only non-Dornishperson here," she said, "My mother left me alone and I find these ways so strange and backwards. Even this little dress. The faith cannot approve of it. I suppose I feel you're the best person I can talk to. I know that mother wanted us bethrothed but I assure you my sentiments are sincere."

In a large part he agreed with her, even though she clearly lied about Cersei's intentions. "I understand," Jon said, "The Dornish culture is not like other cultures. I too feel a stranger here."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Myrcella said, her head still lowered. "I'm sorry if I've annoyed you. My brother always said I was annoying."

Jon remembered her shit of a brother. He also remembered the boy falling off a horse at a tourney and calling Sandor Clegane to protect him. "Well you're not. And you're brother's a dumb cunt," Jon said.

Myrcella smiled and giggled, which was at least preferable to her other behaviors. It was good to see her behave like a regular girl, free and unrestricted by her role as a high born lady. 

"Um, Your Grace," Myrcella started, "May I see your war charts? I've always wanted to see some but my grandfather says it's not women's work."

"It typically isn't," Jon said. After the stress he felt earlier, showing Myrcella some battle plans might ease some tension. "Here," Jon said, picking up some charts and maps near his books. He showed them to her, but instead of taking them, Myrcella immediately walked over to him and sat on his lap. Jon couldn't react in time. Myrcella took his maps and pointed to something.

"What's this?" she asked innocently.

"Myrcella," Jon tried to say.

"Oh, I don't mean to hurt you. Allow me," Myrcella responded. She rubbed up on him and laid against his chest. Jon couldn't help but react, but she didn't react to his hardness. Then she dropped the maps in her hands.

"Oh, forgive me. I'll get that," Myrcella said, getting off his lap. She bent over, and her short dress lifting up and revealing herself, entirely bare.

 

_She's not wearing smallclothes._

 

Jon stared and couldn't think. She stayed bent over for far longer than necessary. Then Myrcella sat back on his lap as if nothing had happened. 

"My mistake," she said innocently. "You know, Your Grace, I've seen how you looked at me. I know you have thoughts... so will you give me an answer?"

"I, um," Jon stammered. He couldn't control himself, and she rubbed her butt on him more. 

"When I was in the Princess's solar, I asked if I should keep the Dornish dresses," Myrcella explained, "Would you prefer I changed, or keep it?"

"Myrcella," Jon sighed. He had to get her off of him, but she kept interrupting him.

"I believe the dresses are quite revealing," she said, "Mayhaps too revealing to wear in public. But if you like, I could only wear them around you." She stared at him with big, innocent eyes. Part of Jon wanted to absolutely ravage her. Her body felt like he had reached one of the seven heavens. But this was just too much. 

Jon immediately grabbed her and pushed her off of him. She squealed.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Myrcella said, red-faced and scared.

"Enough," Jon said. She looked so upset by what he did. He was unable to condemn her, so he simply left.

 

It was already dark, and he walked straight to Arianne's room. Their room. She was brushing her thick, black hair. She was wearing a skimpy white night dress. Then she saw him, and she smiled.

"Hello, dear husband," she said, "Are you enjoying your handmaiden?"

"Stop," Jon said, serious as he could be, "I'm not your toy to be played with."

The room was silent as Arianne lost her smile. She stopped brushing her hair and she looked up at him.

"Could you blame me?" she asked. "You were telling what I could and couldn't do. And you were acting like such a septa."

"You're my wife," Jon said, seething, "You are mine. I'll not have any word of another man touching you." He was never so controlling, but now he was beyond himself.

"What if it was with a girl instead, hmm?" Arianne asked, to which Jon was equally upset. 

 

**Arianne**

Jon stood at their door, angry, agitated. Arianne had seem him like this before, and it made her heart beat faster. She loved being able to do this. She loved seeing him like this. She wished to control him, and have a prince at her command, but instead he was playing the controlling one. By the way he was acting, he was getting more possessive by the minute. 

Him being upset with her was not her intention, when she had told him of her past lovers. They knew they both had bed partners before. Arianne hadn't thought about taking another lover since she had her prince, but his controlling nature provoked her. Provoked her to rebel, to insolence, to playing him and showing that she decided what she wanted to do. She couldn't help herself. 

"I won't have you parade Myrcella in front of me," he said. "I'm sending her back to you."

"Why?" Arianne asked, "Already finished with her? I would've thought you'd resisted somewhat longer."

"You had her expose herself for me, a girl," he said, "That's worse than Cersei."

"Did she really?" Arianne asked, genuinely surprised and amused, "I didn't request that. Mayhaps Myrcella isn't the innocent maid she appears. She's just asking for it, isn't she?"

"Arianne," Jon said, absolute serious.

"Jon," Arianne said, "You have to learn Dornish ways. Many lords take paramours here. We're a free people."

Jon walked up to her and stood before her. 

"I came to Dorne to take a wife," Jon said, "Not a trollop. You are mine." He put his hand on her neck.

"I can do whatever I want," Arianne said childishly, out of a need to rebel, to fight. She wouldn't be told what to do, told what to-

"Then I'm leaving," Jon deadpanned, and he walked away from her.

Arianne gasped. He was about to leave the room when she yelled. "Wait, Jon!" she yelled. She jumped up and followed him. "I didn't- Don't leave!" She grasped his hand. She started crying.

"Why shouldn't I?" Jon said, "You're insolent, impossible. I've tried but I just can't be with you."

She had tears in her eyes. "Stay. I want you to stay."

"How could I be sure you keep your honor?" Jon asked.

"Honor, you stupid fool," she said, choking on tears, "You don't understand. I just-"

_I just want to fight._

"What?" Jon asked, clearing upset that he was hurting her. He stayed even after he learned about her past. It wasn't his honor that did this. It was his pride.

Then Arianne thought, as Jon stared at her, as he bit his lip and looked like the ever-frustrated boy she saw in King's Landing.

_I need to challenge his pride._

Her heart told her he couldn't leave, and her wit told him he wouldn't, unless he felt forced to. Ari realized what she needed to do.

"What did you do" she asked, as she calmed down for her crying, "When Aegon provoked you?"

"What does that-" Jon started.

"You challenged him," Arianne replied. She approached him, the tears on her face drying. "I've been thinking since that day. Is my husband truly the man who'd challenge a prince? Or was that just a show?" She breathed in deeply. "When a husband finds that his wife has been unfaithful, would he be strong enough to challenge her or would he just abandon her like a scared boy?"

"Arianne," Jon said sternly.

"You can handle me like a boy, or man," she said, her expression again gaining confidence. "Do what you will, dearest."

Jon continued staring down at her, obviously upset that she was provoking him. He must have known what she was doing, but when she mentioned his past, used his need to be strong, and took advantage of his almost violent obsession with restoring his honor, she had him.

"I can teach you a lot about Dorne, dear husband, starting with what to do when a husband needs to challenge your wife," Arianne grabbed his hand and put it on her shoulder. Jon might have sneered, and Ari only smirked.

 

 


	13. Aegor!

**Jon**

 

Jon was controlling himself as well as he could. He thought about his mother, and how her sweet voice would tell him to be kind, to love his new wife, his family. 

Jon had not pondered seriously on married life since he took Arianne at King's Landing. He knew he would be a consort, and be tasked with maintaining Dorne. The melancholy of it didn't truly hit him, and until he realized he could know longer fight with the Kingsguard, one of his only passions.

Arianne had consumed his time and his mind since he met her. She was beautiful, dangerously so. Her curves and ungodly large breasts would be noticeable no matter what dress he had her wear. She was playful, intelligent, humourous. Mayhaps her pleasant nature made him forget himself. 

After the golden flowers were sent to their wedding by gods know who, Jon wanted to pursue the matter. But Aegon, what Aegon did was far worse. Picking up that sword felt so good...

So Jon left King's Landing, he considered living his life away from his family, where he could enjoy his beautiful new wife who let him between her legs whenever he pleased. The boyish dream ended in realizing what Dorne was, and what he'd be tasked with. His wife was a "somewhat more active" Dornishwoman, according to Nymeria. After his long discussion with her when she found him hunting snakes around the shadow town, he realized what it meant to be to live in the Southern desert of Westeros. 

 

"Everyone's a damn lecher here," Jon had scolded when Nymeria asked him what made him angry enough to fight snakes in the town. "Ladybright asked to be my paramour, and Myrcella Lannister follows me around with her maidenhead ready to give."

"I'm sure that is not all, Your Grace," Nymeria said, sympathetically. "I've heard the whispers from your rooms."

Jon had stopped and looked toward the Dornishwoman. "What am I to do?" Jon asked, "She is my wife."

"This is Dorne," Nymeria explained, "Everyone keeps a paramour, lord and lady alike. We do not find it dishonorable. We should have expected this, having a true northerner here."

"True northerner?" Jon asked. 

"You have wolf's blood," Nymeria said, "You enjoy claiming your mate, and fighting off others who have dared to touch her. And gods help her, you have the dragon in you. You don't know how to share."

"I wouldn't," Jon explained, "Nor am I satisfied with her now."

"Why is that?" Nym asked.

"Because she said she would stop," Jon explained, "If I could stop her. Said 'husband, I have no intention to dishonor you. But those are only intentions.' She said I had to stop her myself. She’s bloody daring me to act harshly."

"Gods be good," Nym said, "I hope this doesn't mean an execution of every man in Dorne." Jon stared angrily until Nym chuckled. "Not that many, but you'll also have to include the women. Aye, my cousin is... more Dornish than most Dornishwomen. Truly a descendant of Nymeria. Tell me, Your Grace, how did your wife ask you to stop her?"

Jon remembered Arianne, her challenging, proud face, her fingers putting his hand around her neck. She dared him to wring her hard and take control. It was like she wanted to see it.

"Well, what did she do?" Nymeria repeated, drawing Jon from his memory.

"Nothing," Jon stated. 

"And nothing got you killing snakes all alone," Nymeria asked.

Jon looked at the woman and considered what her history must have been. Nymeria seemed intelligent: another dark-skinned, wavy haired Dornishwoman. What could make Arianne so different? Was it her father? Something deep in her mind that made her act so irrationally? 

"What was Prince Doran like?" Jon askes, "what is the word about him?"

"Ah, my uncle was a quiet man," Nymeria stated, "Not peaceful, but he preferred peace. He was kind, fair, and a good Prince. But he was also distant; to tell you the truth, most didn't mourn the Prince. He had been gone for so long. It was like he was gone for years."

"And his relationship with Arianne?" Jon asked.

"Hardly pleasant, though most of it was from her end," Nym said, "She thought him weak. Tye would know more, but I remember how she always said he was not a strong man."

Jon didn't respond to that, and he put away his weapons: his sword and a rope, and focused again on the burning question of the day.

"Lord Redwyne arrives today," Jon said, "With Lord Swann."

"Aye," Nymeria said, "I heard that you were organizing shipping parties. Ships to travel in and out of Sunspear. Many Dornish lords will join."

"We're coordinating our efforts, that's if they listen," Jon stated.

"What's that to mean?" Nym asked.

"They're all at the Lemonwood port," Jon explained.

"Ah you mean Planky Town," Nymeria said, touching her chin.

"They're insulting me," Jon said, "They know I ordered them here yet they have disobeyed. Even Qorgyle deliberately left the city after I spoke to him. Said he preferred taking orders from Arianne."

"Vitriol and bitterness, Your Grace," Nymeria stated, "It does not suit you. Worry not. I'm sure you'll find control soon. I'm afraid I must go attend my younger sibling, Obella. But rest assured you'll find your footing here. Edric follows you, and I'm sure you will find your place with my cousin soon." Nymeria was about to leave when she turned around. "And you shouldn't be playing with snakes, especially not you northerners."

"Why's that?" Jon asked, getting tired with her unfinished statements. 

"Hm, I'll tell you eventually," Nym said, "You'll understand then."

Nymeria left him and Jon eventually returned to his duties. He never expressed so many of his thoughts, unless he was with Daenerys. But it was eating him alive. And Nym was kind. Now, though, he had to go to work. Lords Velaryon and Swann arrived at port, as did the other Dornish lords Uller, Allyrion and Yronwood, each with a force of nearly a hundred men. Lord Redwyne arrived as well, with dozens of ships. As was usual, Redwyne didn't look at him.

_That man thinks I'm a Northern rebel._

Jon and Arianne met them, and escorted every lord to the great hall, which had a map of the narrow sea at center on a desk.

Introductions were brief, and Jon was utterly displeased to have Daemon Sand back, but his father, thankfully, had him leave.

"This is Dickon Tarly," Lord Redwyne said, pointing to a tall and confident-looking man, "He shall take the place of his father while he is at King's Landing."

"My lords," Dickon nodded, before looking at Arianne's bust for a little too long. Jon didn't forget it.

Other heads nodded, and Lord Gulian Swann, a man of strength and just past forty, spoke first. "I say we attack them from the Stepstones. Take every island before they have time to hide, and go island by island. They'll have no where to make port" he said.

"We'd die within a fortnight," Lord Velaryon said, "The islands are smothered in pirates."

"My lords," Jon butted in, Arianne to his side, "I believe we should take them head on; we've planned attacks to take them at their source in Tyrosh."

The lords looked at him, but Lord Velaryon didn't even turn his head. The room was silent, until Swann spoke. "His Grace has a point, but..."

"You've no concept of sea warfare," Lord Redwyne said coldly. Jon only stared at the man, who clearly had no concern for him.

"Lord Redwyne, I fought in war," Jon said.

"Aye, you poured grease on some iron savages," Lord Redwyne said, "But never fought at sea."

Each man at the table stared between the two men, and Arianne looked to her husband. Jon remembered her words, and he knew she would not respect him if he didn’t respond like a man. He wouldn’t be able to respect himself.

Then Redwyne turned away from Jon and continued speaking as if nothing happened. But Jon wouldn't take it.

"No," Jon said, looking straight at the man, "You shall do as I say; the King tasked me with leading this battle and I will."

Lord Redwyne continued and challenged him. "I'll not sacrifice my ships-"

Suddenly Edric burst in, tottling around and blonde hair bouncing. 

"A raven!" He yelled, "A raven has come in. They've taken Ghaston Grey."

"Edric," Arianne said, "show me."

Edric quickly ran over and the other lords looked either confused or upset. 

"Gods," Arianne said as she read the letter, "They've taken the island. They say Euron Greyjoy has escaped."

Euron Greyjoy had barely been captured at the end of the war, having been caught fleeing to the narrow sea. He was awaiting trial for torture, rebellion, massacre, and the rape of Catelyn Tully. 

"Bloody fools," Velaryon said, "Should've killed him when you had the chance. He wouldn't have taken the Black like Stannis."

"The pirates attacked the bloody prison?" Lord Allyrion asked. "I've seen their ships on my shores. They couldn't take a even run-down island like that."

"That is not all," Arianne said, and continued reading, but then she paused. "That-that is it. Never mind. Let us continue with the defense."

"Out with it," Dickon Tarly said, which grabbed Jon's attention.

"Ser Tarly, apologize to my wife," Jon said, "now." He was leaning on the desk, not even looking at the man. More news was coming in, and all of it bad. It was like he felt the weight crushing him.

Dickon looked around. "Forgive me, Princess," the man said.

Arianne smirked somewhat at Jon’s actions, obviously impressed. She put the letter away, and they all decided to stop planning until they had more information. Jon left with Edric, and as night came, Edric and he sharpened swords.

"Would you get a Valyian steel sword?" Edric asked.

"What?" Jon said, distracted. 

"Well, I would," the boy said, "If I don't get uncle Arthur's, I'll find a Valyrian sword and call it Brick-breaker." Edric looked at his master and waited for a response, and he got none.

"Ser, are you upset?" Edric asked.

 

The next two days passed with Jon in the same fit. But now Darkstar was at Sunspear. 

Jon ate dinner with his wife to his side. Arianne had all but contented herself to playing quiet, as if waiting on him to act first. Her silence and smiles were maddening.

The music was played on wind instruments, using what looked like a pipe and bladder. The guests ate and drank their food and wine, and Jon remained apart from the Dornish lords, who whispered that he was a subordinate to his wife. And away from the Southern lords, who never cared for him in the first place. Oberyn drank with his daughters as well. Jon wished to ask Swann about his son marrying Dany, but hadn't the chance. Edric came to his side, ever the dutiful squire. He would be ready to see his first battle, if Jon could keep him alive. 

He wore his dark night wear. It was clear he was mirroring Jon's style.

"Edric, do you have those letters?" Jon asked.

"Here, Ser," Edric said, passing them.

"Tell me, what does your family think of Darkstar?" Jon asked.

Edric's face turned sour. "I hate him, so does everyone else," Edric said, "Uncle Arthur told me he tortured a girl, violated her."

Jon padded the boy's shoulder. "That's all for now," Jon said.

Jon looked at the letters and opened the first one. It was from Daenerys.

_*Jon,*_

_*Have you gone mad? How could you leave me in King's Landing, without so much as a hug? My big nephew, you better not forget your poor little aunt here as she toils under Rhaegar's endless demands.*_

_*I am aware you have responsibilities now, but this is the longest you haven't written me since the Greyjoy rebellion. Please correct that.*_

_*Regardless, Rhaenys and I have already decided to forego our betrothals, which you may have expected. My brother the king will be upset, but he has more than us to deal with. Mother is certain that Viserys is merely doing something foolish in Lys, with a few whores no doubt, so I don't believe it is him rebelling, nor do I believe she'll tolerate those two competing.*_

_*Please tell me, how is your marriage? How is Arianne? Dorne? The Spear Towers and the wine? How's your little squire? I've heard rumors that Myrcella Lannister has found her way into your household; by the gods, you better be responsible. I remember what you wrote about her last time.*_

_*I wonder when you'll leave for battle again. Forgive the lack of detail in this message. It is the last I am sending before I escape to Dragonstone.*_

_*Write me.*_

_*Daenerys.*_

 

Jon smiled. She was always his scatter-brained aunt. He missed her, even more now that he was far. He shouldn't have left so quickly, for her sake.

Suddenly Jon heard a splash and saw Dickon Tarly and Daemon Sand drinking with several of the men. Darkstar stayed silent and smiled. However, by his side was little Myrcella, drinking a goblet of Dornish wine.

"There we go, my dear," Darkstar said. Jon knew he shouldn't have ignored her so, a young girl like that. 

"Ser Gerold," Jon said defensively, "That's my handmaiden. Mind yourself." 

He looked back to his next letter while the dinner continued and men drank. Jon read the letter and was surprised.

_*Little brother,*_

_*Where in the seven hells have you found the gall to embarrass me? I am your older brother and your future king. I have always treated you kindly, and received only coldness in return.*_

_*I know why you feel this way: your family in the North. Well I shall tell you: they threatened war and I responded in kind. I won't have another Northern rebellion.*_

_*Read well, little brother, I have never judged or blamed you for your blood, nor your mother's. I know she loved my father and the South, while the rest of the North called her a victim in love with her rapist.*_

_*What has caused this animosity, that should belong to them, to shift to me, I do not know. But I do know that they see you better than me, and everyone else as enemies. They are beyond reason; Jaime Lannister never killed her, nor did my mother, nor did any one of us. You will not be their patron nor coddle their suspicions. While you are off playing at war with little pirates, mind you that I expect an apology for me and my queen, and a reaffirmation of your pledged against the North!*_

_*Remember this well, brother, and grow used to the feeling of a bent knee. Or else, when I am King, the feeling will be all too sudden for you.*_

_*Your Elder Brother_ *

 

Without a second thought, Jon dropped the letter. Arianne looked at him, confused. But suddenly, Darkstar stood in front of him. He had that sickly smile.

"Gerold," Arianne said, "What is it?"

"The King, oh forgive me, Prince Consort, won't let me fuck his little handmaid," Gerold said, "Alas, that would make me Aegor to her Shiera. How poetic. Though it would make more sense if he were Aegor and I Bloodraven, don't you think?"

Arianne obviously didn’t like his tone nor his humor. She turned to Jon, expecting him to speak for her. Jon, though, was still too shocked by the letter to respond. Arianne scoffed at Jon’s silence, and she spoke for him.

"Gerold," Arianne said, "There is a crime in insulting a prince."

"Aye," Darkstar said, "But many a lord here agree that he's less an... official prince. But I suppose you're right. Would it be less of an insult to have you instead, my Princess? Show Aegor that I respected all his women."

Arianne looked angrily at Jon. This was his time to behave like a husband, but he remained quiet. Arianne again had to speak.

"Ger-" Arianne was cut off.

"I've seen you look at me," the man said, "Want to make children as fair as dragonlords?"

"DARKSTAR!" Jon yelled, drawing everyone's attention. "You white-haired fuck, you insulted my wife. I challenge you to a duel, now, outside."

Arianne immediately quieted down and looked curiously at Jon.

Darkstar looked half amused. "Oh, Aegor, I don't think I could match your talents, your years of training. Have you turned nine-and-ten yet? Where do you find the place to make such requests?"

Jon immediately turned to Areo, who remained silent and near Arianne, as he usually was. 

"Take him," Jon said, and the man looked panicked. Everyone did. Then Areo looked at Arianne, who nodded. This was what she wanted. Immediately the large Norvosi man grabbed Darkstar and took him outside. Arianne remained curious and followed. It was still light outside, but nearly sunset.

"Edric!" Jon called out, "Bring me my sword."

Jon walked out without a second thought, and a surprised party followed him.

Jon quickly had Edric give him his sword. The world was moving too fast. Jon was driven by pure rage.

"First blood," Caleotte called out as he ran out, probably as he was napping before, "It must be to first blood; there can be no harm to high borns or princes."

Lords Redwyne and Velaryon stood curiously, as the only sober men, and everyone else sobered up when they heard there was a duel.

When Jon saw Darkstar on the dornish sands, he stopped hearing. Darkstar said something about Gwane Corbray and Caleotte nervously called out the rules but Jon heard none of it. Darkstar only stood smilingly. The white-haired, purple-eyed , overconfident fuck. Arianne stood next to Areo, and Jon saw her eyeing him. If she wanted to see what kind of man her husband was, she would see it. Then the match began.

Jon took the first swing, which was blocked. He tried again and was parried. Darkstar was a great swordsman. 

Jon jumped back and swung again, but again was blocked. By the time he recovered, Darkstar swung at him hard and swiped at his clothes. Jon knew what was happening now. Like Ser Arthur said, he was sloppy when he was angry. The crowd stood and clapped, as if it was a show and not a duel of honor.

Darkstar took a leap and laughed, pushing Jon's sword out of the way. A gasp was heard from the audience. Then Jon stepped back. He was about to point out his sword, when Darkstar pointed his blade at him. 

Jon knew he was too enraged before. He made a mistake. Then he remembered rules of dueling. He opponent had to strike him and cut, but not remise. They needed a clear strike to first blood.

So as expected, Darkstar drew his sword back quickly and then attacked, only for Jon to plunge his own sword in Darkstar's heart in the mean time

 He was too fast for him.

The crowd silenced and everyone stood around quiet. Jon drew his sword from Gerold Dayne's body, and the darkest star of the night fell to the earth. Some said he had broken the rules, as it was supposed to be first blood. Oberyn, of all people, was the only one smirking.

"I never agreed to first blood," Jon stated plainly. Then he looked to Daemon Sand. His rage hadn’t cooled. "But now I do. Sand, get over here."

"What? Are you fucking mad?" Daemon yelled. The man sobered up and understood what awaited him. He dishonored the Princess. That’s all Jon needed to know.

"Now!" Jon ordered. Jon saw Arianne standing there, in wonder and mouth partly agape. Then he focused on Daemon, who was brought over, struggling. What followed was less a duel and more a pitiful brawl, in which Jon beat down Daemon and then every man that touched Arianne or even whispered about it. 

It was nearly an hour past and each lord stood surprised, unspoken, afraid of their prince. Arianne had already walked away. Jon walked to Lords Yronwood and Redwyne, covered in sweat, while the others tried to look away from him. Lord Allyrion had since been removed after the flogging of his son. 

"My lords," Jon said, "I expect to see you in the morn. We shall sail soon, on my order, understood?"

Redwyne looked like he was questioning his previous acts of indiscretion.

Jon ascended the tower and gave his sword to Edric, while many lords and ladies left. Jon was a prince, and he reminded them all why he would not be seen as anything less.

Jon walked up the The Tower of the Sun and up to his chambers. As soon as he entered, he saw Ari there, naked and on silk sheets, stroking her clit. She was smiling.

"You killed Darkstar," she said. She was breathing heavily. Jon saw her glistening wet. "Take me. Conquer me, my Dragon."

Jon felt adrenaline unceasing since he challenged Darkstar, and it continued now. And he yet had more to spend. In less than a second, he removed his clothes and his cock stood, hard, large, and pointing right at her.

"Your sword," Arianne moaned, "With so much fury. Please, focus all your fury on this. You punished everyone that defied you. Now it’s your wife’s turn to receive her punishment.” Her voice sounded like silk. She pointed at her cunt. Without a second question, Jon walked over and got on top of her. He fucked her hard and but your lips and neck. 

He was lost, driven by pure emotion. By the time he finished, Arianne was moaning and quivering. She continued to do so for half an hour.

He released what was left of his rage, and Ari only begged for more. Every hard thrust was met with moans, every slap met with groan, and every thrust met with begging and her pussy squeezing him even more.

 

When morning came, Arianne laid by Jon, clinging to him. 

"I don't think I can walk today," Ari said drowsily, "You'll have to attend the war meeting without me."

Jon held her close and she melted into him. "I'll make them listen to me this time," Jon said.

"Aye you will; already we hear of the lords asking for your presence before continuing. It's obedience," Ari said, "Don't you see the beauty of it? How better we've become, together."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked.

"Ever since we’ve been together, you’ve shown the righteousness of your strength" she explained, "You show force. Aegon, Darkstar, the Dornish lords, even I must all respect your command. That is how you must rule men."

Jon pondered her words He was, however, enchanted by her scent of Dragonflower perfume and sex.

"Aye," he said, enjoying her touch.

"Tyene came by this morning," Arianne moaned, cuddling him, "Lord Redwyne left after you ordered him to be dutiful."

Jon huffed. "And so leave our best ships," Jon said, "If I were his liege lord I'd have him executed for insubordination."

Arianne smirked. "Good," she said, "If you were Lord of the Reach, I know you would." Then she laid her head on his chest, and he stroked her back.

_Aye, a Lord of the Reach. Or the King._

 

 **Arianne**  

Arianne got out of bed, and the shine of the morning sun lit her room. She yawned happily and ran her hand through her messy, voluminous hair. Her husband had been so resistant to her control. But Arianne knew that all men broke eventually, though with Jon it required challenging his pride instead of his lust. It mattered not that Jon could recognize her games. 

_When Jon have threatened to leave, he had the upper hand. But I am far better at these games than he. I am winning and getting what I want: a husband to fuck, rule, and conquer._


	14. I See A Ship In The Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a teaser chapter. Sorry to get your hopes up. Read the bottom note.

**Pit**

Pit walked among the slaves of the Stepstones, pushing a cart of water. For a moment, he stopped to look at them. Some were pretty, some were gross and thin, yet they were his people, the only people he knew. He pushed the cart to his home, taking in the rays of the sun. As a resident of Bloodstone, mayhaps the only functioning part of what was left over of the old Kingdom, he was well suited to the heat of the day and the freezing cold of the night. He had been since he was born.

Yet, he wanted more. His mother told him that after his studies with the local blacksmith, that he should leave this place and go elsewhere, like Pentos or Braavos, even Dorne if they allowed him. She might have liked that, knowing that her son was doing well elsewhere. But he also knew that as a young man, the only man in his mother's life, he rightly couldn't leave her here. Women had a tendency to go missing without someone watching them. She could end up at another island, enslaved like the girls he past every day, starving and hopeless. If he could, he would earn enough to ship them both to Dorne.

Dorne would not look down upon his family, he believed. However, he did know that it was in a crisis of its own. A local trader had told him that the King of Westeros sent his son to Dorne, and that he was threatening war upon his father for the crown. If that was true, it would make Dorne just as unsafe as Bloodstone, on a good day. Wars brought famine, rape, madmen who patrolled the streets looking for victims. Pit remembered the last man who brought war to his home, some man with white hair and a few ships. He knew if war could be avoided, it ought to be.

_Maybe Pentos then. Another year, and I might have enough to take us to Pentos._

As Pit continued his walk, he stumbled near the beach. Like always, it was so open, so open to possibilities, to a better future.

Then he saw a whale in the distance.

_It's one of those with white eyes and black fins!_

For a moment, Pit enjoyed seeing the beast jump in the air, and back into the water. It was like being a kid again, and joy came to his heart. He wondered if he had enough time to tell his mother to come out and see.

The whale got closer, continuing to flap occasionally in the air. Then Pit saw the creature jump more rapidly, more randomly. It was in pain. As Pit looked closer, he wondered if whalers were at it again, having hurt some poor stupid beast of the sea. However, as it got closer, he saw on the whale's fin a green flame. It never went out, no matter how many times it writhed in the water. Pit's face contorted in disgust, unsure what to think or say.

Then he turned his head away from the whale, to the open sea. Except this time in the sea was a Westerosi ship. He had seen them before, given all the trading they did. But now the ship was burning in a green fire.

Pit's eyes opened wide, fear in them. He ran, abandoning his cart.

War was coming again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. Yes, I am starting to work on this again. This chapter was merely to prove I'm intending to continue this. A few rewrites and tweaks must be worked out first. Anyway, I'm back. Here's a taste. Gimme a little time for substantial stuff.


	15. Dornishmen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, I'm back. Please re-read the last two or three chapters. I changed some things and got rid of some of the cringy stuff. I think it's better now.

**DORNISHMEN**

**Arianne**

“Your husband is the talk of the town,” Nymeria said as she entered Arianne’s room. Arianne had just put on her flowing green dress, one that had a low neckline and revealed her small waist. Nymeria, however, dressed like the warrior she was: languid, elegant, olive-skinned, her long black braid bound up in red-gold wire. Arianne thought Nymeria was so much like her father, or Seria Martell.

“That he is,” Arianne said, as she walked through her room to her jewelry box, “I won’t chastise you for not knocking on the door, again.” Arianne put on her golden snake bracelets and ran golden lace through her hair. It was so thick that she often needed something to hold it back, even if no one could see it.

“Had a fun night, I take it?” Nymeria said and smirked. She walked over to Arianne’s messy bed and sat on it. Arianne only smiled back. “Well, while you were riding your dragon, many of the lords have talked.”

Arianne grimaced. “What have they to say?”

“What?” Nymeria asked sarcastically, “About your husband, the foreign-born prince beating their sons in an open courtyard?”

Arianne turned around and scoffed. “What do they have to complain about?” Ari asked, “It’s not as if they ended up like Darkstar.”

“I don’t think Jon’s come to understand that we Dornish don’t submit so easily,” Nym said. “I hope you can cool their rebellious hearts.”

“Jon didn’t do it for control of them; he did it for me,” Arianne explained, “He would see that no others have me.”

“Then he’s even more hopeless,” Nymeria jiped, and Arianne shot her an angry look. Nym only smiled. “I did come here for another reason. Drey came to me. He wants to see you.”

“That man’s just begging Jon to cut him open,” Arianne said as she applied a bit of eyeliner. “Isn’t he in Lemonwood?”

“That’s just it.” Nymeria said, “Your husband ordered him to come here. He said he would be merciful if he didn’t have to come get him.”

“Ugh, Jon,” Arianne scoffed again. “Shouldn’t he be busy planning our attack?”

_It’s good when he’s jealous, but not when he’s making my friends fear for their lives._

“I believe he’s found time to make his squire deal with it,” Nym replied, “Poor boy.” Nym sat up and walked toward the door. “I shall have Drey sent to the main hall. I believe for you to deal with him first before the host of angry fathers.” Nym walked off, leaving Arianne to finish brushing her hair and smoothing out her dress.

Of course they would have to deal with the consequences of Jon’s actions yesterday. But Arianne would consider it a necessary sacrifice.

_If I must forego a bit of freedom and some angry looks, then I shall. So long as my husband is more possessive than ever._

 

“Only a Dornishman can ever truly know Dorne, it is said” Maester Caleotte answered, as Arianne sat the seat of the Sun. Before her stood Audrey Dalt, and around her were just a few guards, and Areo. “The Prince Consort is simply too new to Sunspear. He has yet to learn our ways.”

“Our ways?” Drey yelled, “The man wants to kill me.”

“The-“ Caleotte tried to respond, before Arianne stopped him by raising her hand.

Arianne gave Drey a compassionate look. He was a kind and handsome man, a truly salty Dornishman. “He’s not going to kill you,” Ari said. “I’ve made that clear. He’s only killed Darkstar and we all know he deserved it.”

“Then he’ll break my arm like he did Daemon!” Drey replied, fear in his voice.

Ari was surprised by that. She didn’t know how far Jon had gone. Ari considered her words. “Well then,” she started, “I will have a talk with him.”

“What if he catches me before you find him,” Drey said. Ari had to resist rolling her eyes. He was acting afraid.

_And unattractive._

“Then until I speak with him, you can stay with Obara and Tyene,” Ari said, “I don’t think he’ll try to go through them to get to you.”

Ari waved him away. After that, Caleotte approached her.

“There are four other lords who’d wish to speak, about the prince’s actions last night,” Caleotte explained.

_Four? Did I only sleep with four men from the feast last night?_

Arianne couldn’t remember. But she did find herself upset that such men who prided their Dornish heritage would act in such a way. “Oh, tell them to piss off,” Ari said, “This is Dorne, and we don’t whine and cry when we’re challenged.” She thought of Drey, her mind full of contempt, and then she thought of Jon, and her heart filled with glee. “Tell them to be proud their prince is learning our ways. His beliefs might still be wrong, but he fights with the passion of Dornishman.” Arianne smiled thinking of Jon that way, and Caleotte quietly left to do as she ordered.

Sitting on the throne, Ari imagined Jon as strong and protective as he was, but with a mindset both lustful and devilish. She rubbed her thighs together at the thought.

“Princess,” Maester Myles peaked out of the corner, appearing rather impish. Arianne shot him a dissatisfied frown for interrupting her fantasies.

“What?” Ari asked.

“It’s just,” Myles said, “I believe this is something I must give to you.” The maester walked over to Arianne, only for Areo to halt him with his arm. Myles looked to Areo, and then raised his hand which held a letter.

Curious, Arianne took the letter and read it.

_This is what made him so angry._

It was a letter from Aegon. It was full of insults and blamed Jon for everything that occurred at the wedding. Aegon dared to make Jon again bend the knee and betray his mother’s people. Arianne was blindsided by all this. She was supposed to talk with Jon about the dead roses, but everything became so chaotic. And now Aegon had the gall to write this.

“Is this real?” she asked Myles.

“I saw the Prince Consort reading it myself,” Myles said, “I snatched it before anyone could notice.”

Arianne was mad. She was mad at Aegon, whom she had only previously been upset with. She was mad at Jon, for it was a letter from his brother that broke him, not her manipulations or previous lovers. She was mad at herself, for she was convinced that she knew him. It seemed that she knew far less than she thought she did.

Arianne turned to Myles. “Thank you,” she said, venom on her tongue, “Be a dear, and tell Tyene to come here.”

Myles nodded and left.

Arianne knew what she was going to do. She was going to defend her husband, and she knew just the right way to do it.

 

**Jon**

_Now they’ve finally shut up._

Jon had planned his attack with the lords who remained, Swann, Yronwood, Dickon Tarly. They had decided their attack would be on the main holdout of the pirates at Bloodstone, which spies reported was an island laden with such men. They would seize the island by surprise and capture everyone they could and find out everything they knew.

Afterward, they would sail to Myr, unless their captives informed them that they were hired by someone elsewhere.

Not a word else was spoken, nothing out of turn, and nothing snide or disrespectful. Jon knew that he had to kill a man and beat several others to earn that, but it was worth it.

When their meeting ended, Jon left to go see his squire, whom he had left at the rookery. However, before he arrived he was met by Nymeria Sand.

“My Prince,” she said, stopping him in the dusty, Dornish road, “I have been looking for you.”

“I was busy, my lady,” Jon explained. He noticed was getting stopped by a Sand Snake every time he left the tower. It was getting annoying.

“Yes, but now that I have you I must ask, what did you expect to gain from last night’s performance?” she asked saucily.

Jon couldn’t formulate the best response. Nymeria actually seemed to take a strange joy in this.

“I don’t think you know what you’ve done,” Nym said, “Some of the lords think you mad, some that saw you as a traitor hate you even more.”

“What’s your point?” Jon asked.

“And others respect it,” she said, “I even heard that Lord Qorgyle praised your talents.”

Qorgyle was one of the many to leave when Jon arrived at Sunspear. It was surprising to hear a good word from him.

Nymeria looked down, a smile still on her face. “Would you like to join me for a boat ride?”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “I’m far too-“

“No, you’re not,” Nymeria said, “And my cousin sits the Sun throne. We have time, and I wish to show you the river.”

“Why?” Jon asked.

“Indulge me,” she answered, “Give me one opportunity and I promise you won’t regret it.”

Jon looked around at the scarce and barren desert town. Then he looked back at Nymeria. “Tell me about this river.”

 

The River Greenblood begins at the southwest corner of Dorne. The most important and freshest water source in all of Dorne, it was one of the few places one could find greenery everywhere.

Jon boarded a small boat with Nymeria, one large enough to hold mayhaps thirty people. It was not a long ride to the river, and daylight continued to beat down on Jon. The boat they were on had a small cabin inside and was plyed by a dark-skinned man and woman.

“Take off the shirt,” Nymeria said, “You’ll die in this heat.”

Jon gave her a challenging look. “I’m not going to fall to any of Arianne’s games,” Jon said.

Nymeria rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said, “Roast if you wish.”

Jon actually did feel like he was going to die wearing his shirt, so he took it off and turned away, staring at the river ahead.

“Why did you bring me here?” Jon asked.

“This is where our people arrived after they escaped the Valyrians,” Nymeria said, “The river has provided for those that our closest to our roots. It’s a reminder of our home at the Rhoynar.”

Jon remembered the history, how Nymeria and her ten thousand ships left Valyria and sailed for years until they settled in Dorne.

“The Children of the Greenblood,” Jon said.

“Orphans,” Nymeria corrected him. “Garin,” she called out.

The boy plying the boat along the river walked over to him. He was short-haired and had a happy face, and he smiled with a noticeable gold tooth.

“You’re the Prince we’ve heard about.” Garin said.

“Aye,” Jon replied.

Garin chuckled a bit, unnerving Jon.

“It’s nothing, nothing,” Garin said, “We rarely hear Kingslander accents while sailing on our river.”

“Garin is an orphan of our mother Rhoyne,” Nymeria explained.

“And milk-brother to Princess Arianne,” Garin added.

Jon grimaced and approached the man. “Go on,” Jon ordered.

“You shouldn’t have mentioned that,” Nymeria said to Garin, “Think nothing of it, Jon. May I call you Jon?” Before Jon could answer, Nymeria did. “Good. I believed you didn’t know enough of our peoples and our ways. I also believe I am better at immersing outsiders in our culture than my cousin. So this is where we shall start. Garin, please tell the story of Mother Rhoyne. Jon, grab a pole and ply the river.”

Jon paused a moment. He was going to say something, but Nymeria’s tone was the same as Dany’s. He had to hear her out. Besides, he was curious.

 

By the end of the night, Jon had heard the story of the Rhoynar, the refugees on the Narrow Sea and the survival of the Dornish culture. It was an interesting story, and one that illuminated much of what he didn’t understand before.

They sailed all the way to Vaith and back, and Jon ate his first dragon pepper, only to be forced to drink mouthfuls of river water to get rid of the burning on his tongue.

They then rode back to Sunspear, and Jon left Nymeria to see his squire. However, he only saw Edric asleep in his room in the lower floors of the tower. Jon shook his head and thought that Arianne was right. He really should have been a better mentor for the boy.

Jon approached his own room at the highest floors of the tower, and entered without a knock, only to see his Arianne ties strings around a small box.

“Jon, you’re here,” Ari said, happiness in her voice, “I was told you were out with Nymeria.”

“Aye, we sailed the Greenblood,” Jon said, “What are you doing?”

“I knew my husband was out with my cousin,” she said, “And I didn’t want to be upstaged. So I have this made for you.”

Arianne turned to him and have him a small wicker box. Jon opened it, and inside were clothes of silk and cotton.

“They’re clothes,” Arianne said, “For your journey on the sea, and for general wear. You dress far too warmly for Dornish weather, and though I enjoy how my black prince looks, I’d prefer him to survive the summer.”

Jon took out the first thing he saw. It was a billowy shirt, one similar to the type a Salty Dornishman would wear.

“You’d have me wear this?” Jon asked.

“Add and remove whatever you like,” Arianne said, “Tell me, when do you leave for Myr?”

“Four days,” Jon answered, still looking at his gift.

Arianne smiled brightly. “That is just enough time,” she said. She approached him and put down his gift. “You can wear these later. Right now, you must remember the third rule of the bedroom.”

Arianne wrapped her arms around his torso and Jon immediately did the same. He tried to remember her rules, until Arianne put her hands under his waistband and pulled down his trousers and kissed him deeply.

Jon couldn’t help but laugh. Arianne certainly not a boring wife. No, she was anything but.

 

**Margaery**

The Rose of Highgarden was getting her hair brushed by her handmaiden. It was the end of the day at the Red Keep, and she had done everything in her power to keep Aegon’s attention. It was frustrating. He could be sweet and dutiful, but his eyes were ever wandering. It was like an addiction he had.

Margaery sighed, knowing that the day was almost over and she wouldn’t have to deal with him, his smiles or his faux respectful chatter. She could only pretend to be awed by his gallantry for so long, and Rhaenys’ certainly didn’t help.

“My Lady,” another of her handmaiden said, a letter in her hand, and a concerned look on her face.

“Yes, Meera, I am busy as you can see,” Margaery replied.

“Aye, but,” Meera paused, “I believe you need to read this.”

Margaery waved her over and took the letter. As her hair was being brushed, Margaery read the letter. Then she told her hairbrusher to stop, and she continued reading. Then she demanded both of her handmaidens leave, and she told them to bring her grandmother.

When she finished the letter, Margaery placed it on the desk in her room and poured herself a bottle of Arbour wine. When her grandmother arrived, the old woman looked upset.

“Why have you brought me here at this hour? And what are you doing downing wine like a drunkard?” Olenna asked angrily.

“I believe we’ve made a dangerous enemy,” Margaery simply replied, “One that may serve as our greatest challenge yet.” Margaery strolled over to her desk and handed her grandmother the letter. Olenna, curious, began reading it.

_To Margaery Tyrell, the High Bitch of the Red Keep_

_Read well._

_You are now responsible for every ill-advised word or action made by your husband, and any of your liege lords for that matter. My husband is the Ruler of Dorne now, and he shall be treated with the deference due to him in such a position. We Dornishmen fought countless wars to keep that right, a right neither you nor your betrothed will not soon forget._

_We will not tolerate anything less._

_So, Margaery, whenever Aegon decides to utter a foul word about my husband or dare again to threaten his family, know that you are threatening us. Know that whenever your people speak against us, that our spears our sharp and our venom is deadly and that they are always aimed toward your precious Reach. Know that we have burned the Oakenseat at Highgarden, and that we are prepared to continue with the rest of the city. Know that our words are Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken, and no matter what your little fucking shit of a husband thinks, that those words are now Jon’s words too._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the festivities at our wedding. And please write me the name of your seamstress. I truly loved that green dress of yours._

_With love,_

_Princess Arianne Nymeros Martell_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky for us all, I have time this summer. I'll try to get the next chapter us by next week.


	16. When You Come Back To Me

**Rhaegar**

The crown of Aegon III weighed heavily on the King’s head heavier than the simple golden band usually did. It was a reminder more now than ever that Rhaegar’s reign would not be like Jaeherys I. Rhaegar the Wise, he was not. Lyanna would have said that. Rhaegar the Good, he could never be. Ned Stark always reminded him of that. Rhaegar the Blessed… the thought almost made him chuckle. Jon’s existence made him forsake that title. Instead he seemed to follow the path of the Dragonbane, the old King who never smiled, who maintained the realm by the skin of his teeth.

Indeed, the events of late forced him to put everything into perspective. Elia had recently received a letter from Oberyn that Doran’s deal with Tyrosh was not completed. Tyrosh was at odds with Myr for years over trade policies. Tyrosh’s trade to Norvos, the Seven Kingdoms and the rest of the free cities was being subverted by Myr, who had stolen batches of their famous dyes and sea slugs. Doran was trying to end those hostilities. According to Elia, the Archon of Tyrosh asked for one of Doran’s children to marry his own child, since they were children of Mellario of Norvos and would ensure that Tyrosh had better leverage in Norvos and Westeros. Doran sent his son to the island. Still, Tyrosh’s posture remained aggressive.

War in the Essos was never a main concern for the crown, but Rhaegar knew that it would complicate matters in Westeros. The small council, however, was not keen on discussing it.

_Essos is on the brink of war, and I have to sit and listen to a man like Mace Tyrell._

“Your Grace, if we cannot bring him in by force then I insist that the court order Eddard Stark come here to answer for his actions,” Mace said in the small council chamber. “My daughter was threatened with a symbol of our house in ruin.”

“And we immediately received word from Ned Stark himself denying it was him,” Dondarrion fired back.

 “Then he had the gall to deny it,” Mace grumbled.

“I would think, my lord,” Jon Connington replied, sitting to the right of the king, “That if he did or didn’t do it that he would still deny it. Besides, we would be persecuting a man based on our suspicions. The North and Vale’s enmity stems entirely from the council’s previous acts of foolhardiness.  We oughtn’t justify their sentiments.”

Mace looked unpleased with Connington’s statement, so Rhaegar raised his hand to bring everyone to attention.

“Mace,” Rhaegar said, “I’ve heard your concerns. I understand your fear.”

“I am not-“ Mace started.

“I know,” Rhaegar said clearly, “That is why the decision is not up to you.”

“Your Grace,” Varys chimed in confidently, “I do believe that my little birds might be of use in finding out-“

“No,” Rhaegar stopped him, letting Varys see the determination in his eyes.

Varys sat surprised, as did everyone else. The King was never upset with Varys.

“Move on,” Rhaegar ordered them all.

The council chamber looked around to see who was ready to speak next.

“Your Grace,” Lord Tarly said, “I must bring a matter to attention.” He looked at the King soberly. “My son prepares with yours at Sunspear. He has told me that the prince consort has acted impulsively.”

The King looked into Tarly’s eyes. The man had the balls to bring up Jon again after suggested Rhaegar de-legitimize him. Rhaegar hoped Tarly’s explanation was good, for his sake.

“The Prince pummeled the sons of lords Allyrion, Uller and two lesser lords in front of them at a feast and killed the lord of High Hermitage in a duel to first blood,” Tarly said. He didn’t speak after that. He only stared at the king with anger in his eyes, as if to say that he was right all along.

Rhaegar stayed silent. Oberyn did mention in his letter that Jon “ _made an impression”_ on the lords several nights ago, but he stated it in jest. Tarly was selling it as an utter act of madness.

But Rhaegar knew his son. Jon would have been willing to fight the Dornish with his own hands if they challenged him, even in an act as impetuous as what Rhaegar just heard. Rhaegar thought about his son at Sunspear, surrounded by men who hated him, who hated the North and Lyanna and wanted to blame him for everything. They were Dornish still, and in all likelihood they would have challenged him openly, to see if he really was the Kraken-Killer.

“Your son is still prepared to sail with him?” Rhaegar asked.

“Yes,” Tarly said, still challenging the King with his unblinking eyes.

That meant that Jon hadn’t beaten his own men without reason. If anyone would have mentioned that, it would have been the son of the honorable Lord Randyll Tarly.

“And he didn’t mention why Jon did what he did?” Rhaegar asked.

“No,” Tarly answered.

“Good,” Rhaegar said, “Then we’ll deal with this when they return.”

Tarly sat down and looked away. Obviously, Jon had responded to some provocation from the young sons of Dornish lords. It was stupid and dangerous, and Rhaegar would punish him. But he wouldn’t be convinced it was some act of rebellion or mania.

_Don’t try to manipulate me, Randyll._

Rhaegar turned his eyes to Pycelle. He looked at the old man and waited for him to speak. Pycelle looked unnerved.

“I-I, Your Grace,” Pycelle muttered, “I-“

“This is over,” Rhaegar said bluntly, “Leave.”

The King looked away from his council. Varys, Pycelle, Dondarrion, Tarly, and Tyrell looked at each other. Rhaegar was acting disinterested. In truth, he was. Slowly, they all shifted out of the chamber, leaving the king with his Hand.

Rhaegar sighed. It was hard acting involved in whatever those men had to say. For days he had stopped delegating tasks to them; he, Elia and his Hand had been taking care of the intricacies of the realm. For the time being, he and Jon only held council meetings so they could find the saboteur among them.

“Does the situation in Tyrosh have anything to do with the pirates on our shores?” Rhaegar asked.

“That’s what the facts would have us believe,” Connington said, “Our ambassadors see pirate attacks in Myr, pirate attacks here. Clearly there’s a connection.”

“And we are all on the side same and attack Tyrosh together,” Rhaegar stated, “It’s too simple. Why would Tyrosh attack us, when what they want is to trade with us?”

“I worry that we shall soon find out,” Connington stated, looking out at the city through the window. “I doubt that spy has anything to do with this plot.

“We know it’s Pycelle,” Rhaegar said when they were alone, “Spying for Tywin. But he wouldn’t want us to war with Tyrosh.”

“He already has his granddaughter prancing around the prince’s eyes. Why would he want to ruin that?” Connington asked, making Rhaegar chuckle, “And what about Tarly?”

“His heir will soon be on the Narrow Sea,” Rhaegar said, “It’s time we use our leverage.”

Connington nodded.

“Your Grace,” Rhaegar heard from behind the chamber door.

“What is it, Lewyn?” Rhaegar asked.

The man was always their meetings at the most inappropriate of times.

“It’s… well, Your Grace,” Lewyn tried to say.

“Move, move,” Rhaegar heard.

“You cannot go in there,” Lewyn said outside the door.

Then the door opened, and the Queen of Thorns appeared before him. She had her granddaughter with her, obviously to get access to the small council room.

“Your Grace,” Margaery bowed to him.

“Look, child,” Olenna said, and Margaery walked out.

“Lady Olenna,” Rhaegar started, “You cannot barge in here.”

“I only seek to rectify the situation my granddaughter is in,” the old woman said, walking up to him. Lewyn tried to hold her back without touching a highborn lady, but she waved him away. “If you’re going to hit an old woman, do it.” Then she approached Rhaegar with a letter in hand.

Rhaegar suspiciously took the letter and read it. His eyes opened wide. He gave the letter to Connington, and touched his hand to his face. He tried and tried and tried. He even defended his son after he fought the sons of Dorne and killed in an unmatched duel. But now he let his wife threaten the bride of the crown prince. It didn’t matter how Jon fit into his plans, Rhaegar had to act on this. He remembered Arianne. He remembered warning her to watch Jon, as if Jon would be the reckless one.

“You know what I’m going to say,” Olenna stated.

Rhaegar knew what she would say, what she would do. This was the wedding all over again.

_Fuck._

 

**Jon**

_Nymeria was crossing the Narrow Sea._

_She and her people after years of wandering finally find home in Westeros._

_After suffering so long, she finds solace in the arms a man who loves her, and for this she names him a Prince._

Jon awoke from his dream feeling better than he ever had. The scent, the touch, the feeling in all of his body was euphoric. He almost didn’t want to open his eyes, just so he could continue existing in the state he was in now. Then underneath him he heard a light giggle, and eyes opened to see that his head was between Arianne’s breasts, and she looked down at him with a lustful smile.

“It’s not typical for the man to sleep on the woman’s chest, but I do hope your enjoying yourself,” Arianne said playfully.

Jon only smiled tiredly and put his head between her cleavage again. Arianne held his head tenderly and Jon enjoyed the extreme softness of her touch.

They had been at it all night. The last several nights, in fact. Jon had to admit to himself that if he were a more lustful man he would be hers entirely. She was an amazing lover. She knew when to tease and how to move her body. She encouraged him to grab her and hold her in whatever position he wanted. She squeezed his cock until he spilled all his seed inside her. Jon’s balls and manhood actually felt tight and tired after making love to Arianne.

Arianne wrapped on of her legs around him. Jon grabbed that leg and felt up her thighs, her thick, dark, beautiful thighs. Then he started licking between her breasts until he found her nipples, all dark and large and hard. Jon bit down on her nipple, making Arianne throw her arms back and groan.

Jon then grabbed her other leg and wrapped it around his torso. Jon leaned up and looked down at her. It was hard to believe that this was the beautiful older woman who he married. Her dark eyes were always so devious and beautiful. Her thick, black, voluminous hair splayed about her breasts and the bed. She was unruly. But Jon was learning just how to combat that.

He grabbed her wrists and forced them against the bed.

“Ooh,” Arianne moaned.

She liked giving up control, and Jon like having it.

Jon entered her, and Arianne eagerly contorted her pelvis to feel more of him. They both groaned at the penetration, and Jon leaned down further to kiss her neck. Before he did, however, Arianne captured his lips. Then they looked at each other. They felt vulnerable, but honest. It was moment in which they truly recognized how they felt about each other.

Then Jon’s cock ran by her clit, and Arianne moaned like a bitch in heat. They fucked until Jon was about to give her his seed. His gripped on her wrists was tighter than ever, and Arianne had already lost herself in several throws of passion. Once buried all the way inside her, Jon laid his head on her breast, and exploded inside of her womb. After several jerks, his body continued moving. His balls tightened and he continued filling her up. By the time he finished, he nearly passed out on top of her again. His manhood hurt, in a way only Arianne could make happen. Jon thought if they went at it again he would surely die.

 

Jon held Arianne from behind, while feeling up her tits and playing with her pussy. Arianne giggled and rubbed her arse against his dick. Jon considered fucking her again, but he couldn’t get it up if he tried. So he kissed her deeply.

“I have to get up,” he told her.

“Jon,” she sighed, continuing to rub her arse on his dick.

“Ari,” Jon replied, putting her away, “Let’s get up.”

Jon pushed her away and put on the clothes she gave him. He had to admit the billowy white shirt made the warm Dornish breeze more tolerable. He also liked the look she was giving him.

“What?” Jon asked as Arianne sat on the bed.

“I like you in that,” she said, then she rolled over to her dresser and put on one of her light dresses.

Jon smirked and finished dressing. Arianne, in her time, had walked behind him and held him.

“Jon, it’s our last day together,” she said, “I want to go riding.”

Jon touched her arms. “Then let’s go.”

“One thing,” she added, “I want my cousin Obara to join us.”

Jon couldn’t see any problem with that and turned around and kissed her.

 

Now he understood why Arianne wanted him to ride with Obara. She was even better than her, and she didn’t let him forget it. Jon was on his back, having fallen from his horse in a race.

“Come now,” Obara said, her messy hair blowing in the hot breeze, “You can’t really be that bad at riding. My cousin says you’re pretty good with her.” Obara smirked as Jon got up and back onto his sand steed.

“Cousin, you should really go easy on him,” Arianne said from her horse, laughing at Jon’s embarrassing performance in his race.

“Nonsense,” Jon said, “I was merely distracted. Bring it on.”

Arianne and Obara looked at each other and smiled.

 

**Arianne**

It was sad to know her husband was going. Her last day with him was beautiful and fun, but now he had to prove that he was the warrior she believed he was.

Arianne walked through the Tower of the Sun in the night as Jon slept. She stopped by Edric Dayne’s room and saw the boy eagerly shining his sword, clothes thrown around the room. He was wearing a billowy shirt just as Jon was. Arianne smiled. Edric was such a sweet boy, so willing to please her prince.

She wanted to tell him not to calm himself and not be nervous on his first time aboard a military vessel, but Arianne had other things to deal with.

She found her destination and knocked on the door before her. The door opened and she saw a little girl wavy blonde hair in front of her.

“Princess,” Myrcella said surprised.

“Hello, Myrcella,” she said, “I’m sure you know that I must stay here while Jon leaves with Edric. I worry that he won’t have enough friendly company. Would you like to join Jon on his vessel? You would have to share rooms, though.”

Myrcella looked at her with big innocent eyes. She would have to say yes. Arianne smirked.

_Let’s see Cersei try to take advantage of my husband now._

By the end of the night, Arianne found herself under her husband’s protective arms. She knew that his reputation would be questioned while he was gone, that he would be attacked by cowards and stupid bitches. But Arianne also knew that she was perfectly capable of handling them. She was looking forward to it.

 

By morning, Jon and Edric were ready to sail. Dickon Tarly, Velaryon, Uller and Yronwood had boarded Lord Swann’s vessels, and Jon was giving Edric some last minute advice.

Arianne walked with Obara next to her. “Jon,” she said, “Obara wants to go with you.”

Jon’s eyebrow raised. “You’re sure of that?” Jon asked.

“That I am,” Obara said, “If you think you can handle it.”

Jon smiled. “Welcome aboard.”

Obara smirked and walked toward Swann’s vessels. Jon turned back to Edric.

“Remember, don’t attack a man taller than you with a grand sword,” Jon said, “Use something smaller, more pernicious with him.”

Arianne stood back and admired Jon instructing his squire. Then Maester Caleotte approached her.

“Princess,” he said, “I have a message to the Prince Consort of Dorne from the King.”

Arianne’s eyes opened wide.

_What could the King want?_

She thought about Rhaegar, then Aegon, then Margaery. Then she counted how many days it would take to reach the Red Keep and come back to Dorne. Suddenly it become clear. “Give it to me,” she said.

“It’s from the King,” he said.

“For my husband,” Arianne explained.

Weakly, Caleotte gave her the letter.

Arianne read the letter. It was Rhaegar blaming Jon for her letter to Margaery. It went at length about Jon’s failures and indiscretions, and it threatened to end his position as consort of Dorne.

Arianne stilled.

“Ari,” Jon shouted out as Edric boarded the ship. “What is it?”

Arianne shook herself out of her trance. She ran up to him, the letter in her hand, and she kissed him.

“Make sure come back to me soon,” she said as they stopped kissing.

Jon smiled and held her tenderly. But he saw the paper in her hand.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Ari smirked. “It’s a secret, but you can find out when you get back,” she explained, “I’ll be sure you get so many gifts when you return to me, my dragon,” she said sultrily.


	17. The Most Stirring Thing You Have Ever Experienced

**Aegon**

Aegon read the reports in front of him. As per his usual request, he had Pycelle and the other maesters give him the same daily briefing his father received, which was of course redacted heavily. To his constant annoyance, his father still didn’t let him in on everything.

He read of the continually rising prices and tariffs from the North, suspicious trade ships passing from Braavos into White Harbor, the return of Lord Redwyne to the Arbor, and a possible war in Essos. As he read, Aegon considered what to do. What could he, as a prince, do to prevent the inevitable bloodshed of war? Sometimes it seemed all too clear, all too frustrating. He knew what was going to happen. Everybody did.

Aegon released a groan of frustration and put down the reports.

“What is it, Aegon?” Margaery said, laying naked in his bed.

Aegon turned to her. What could he say?

“A war in the East, I believe,” Aegon said, a bit of venom on his tongue. Had he been more choleric, he might have yelled out all his feelings. But that wouldn’t do.

_I let her manipulate me before. I can’t let her do it again._

Margaery was everything he could hope for in a bride. Beautiful, smart, witty, and loved by the people. She also understood the threats they faced and stood with him on those. But he also knew that she was too clever and self-serving.

“What is your father going to do?” Margaery asked.

_The same thing he always does: Nothing._

“I hope to bring it up with him the next time I see him?” Aegon said.

“You know you have his trust; you are his heir. Don’t forget that,” she said.

Aegon almost smiled. Everything she said was just what he wanted to hear, but it was too good to be true. His father laid his hands on him. He chastised him at his brother’s wedding. He all but shut him down the last time he brought of his true thoughts and opinions. He could only be silent now, and let his father drive them to war and chaos.

And Margaery only made it worse. He thought he might enjoy other women as other kings had and keep his wife for bearing his heirs. But after she caught him, she made her position clear that he would only be with her. Margaery Tyrell, his unchosen betrothed, too powerful to be gotten rid of and too well-loved to be controlled, was all but forcing him to make the most dangerous decisions. In his dreams, he imagined her cutting his throat at night after she bore him a son.

“I am going to break my fast,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“Let me come with you,” she added, eagerly getting up and kissing him.

_Gods damnit._

Aegon smiled forcefully and waited for to get out of bed and dress.

 

“Prince Aegon, it would be an honor for you to sit with us,” Ser Loras Tyrell said at the dining hall. Ser Loras sat with other members of his family, who all welcomed him to sit with them.

With Margaery to his side, he could only agree to let her grab his hand and sit with him.

Margaery, even barely out of bed and with messy hair, still looked so beautiful and innocent. He could be grateful for that.

“I must ask, what do you think of the events of late?” Ser Loras said.

“To which are you referring?” Aegon asked, taking a bite of bread.

“Lord Swann and Prince Jon found a several ships near the Stepstones, on fire,” Ser Loras said.

“What’s the importance of that?” Aegon asked.

“They also found a few survivors. They were pirates. They said they were attacked by the Golden Company, and they were using wildfire,” Ser Loras said.

Aegon’s eyes opened wider. _Wildfire?_

“That is… interesting,” Aegon said.

“Certainly so,” Margaery agreed, “Might you speak with your father about this, so we might further know what’s going on?” Margaery asked it so dearly and sweetly, but Aegon looked around the table. They were all looking at him. He had to look like he had his father’s confidence.

“I shall,” Aegon said, “Worry not, dearest.” He kissed Margaery on the cheek and got up to walk away.

In earshot, he could hear Margaery speaking with her family. “The prince is well respected by the king. He always gives his advice and insight in political matters.”

_Damn bitch._

If he didn’t speak to his father he would appear like he didn’t have his father’s confidence. But Aegon knew that in reality he didn’t. In every instance where Aegon voiced his opinion, he was chastised, sometimes openly. To his father and to much of the kingdom he knew that he was not held in high regard. To them he was a lecher, a fool, a child. In his own thoughts, though, he was simply a failure. Walking through the great halls of the Red Keep, he wondered if any king in their history cared less for his son’s opinion than his father.

_Maybe Aegon the Fourth._

He missed Jon. As angry as he could be at his brother’s better reputation, him better skill with the sword, or his sullen, sad sack nature, Jon was always so quietly reserved, so poised and accepting of himself.

_Until recently, that is._

Aegon should have known. He thought making fun of Jon’s sullen attitude would have brightened him up. He always respected him, but according to Rhaenys all Aegon’s taunts did was drive Jon into the fury he saw as of late.

Why? Why did he have to have to do it, threaten him at the wedding and leave so hurriedly? Aegon didn’t blame him for beating him in a duel. He was acting like an arse. He never blamed him for his connection to the North. How could Jon be responsible for Eddard’s threats? Now his brother was off in a far away place, betrothed to a woman who cared little for him.

_I just want to fuck some dumb whore and forget all this._

Aegon wanted to bash his head into the wall. He shouldn’t be the heir to the throne. No matter how much he trained, he wasn’t a warrior, and no matter how much he read, he always made foolish mistakes. He thought he could end a war by making Jon kneel but all he did was spur one on. His brother hated him, his sister blamed him, his father had no trust in him, and even his own mother wouldn’t console him. He was at the mercy of Margaery and her manipulations and he knew, by the gods he knew, that whatever decisions he made would affect the kingdoms irrevocably.

_But I’m the only one that can see the enemy in the darkness. Only I can prevent the wolf from devouring the kingdoms._

As he walked toward his father’s solar, he prayed that he might be relieved of his burdens. He prayed that his father would finally recognize the enemy in the Starks. After the siege on King’s Landing, the degradation of his grandfather by the Northern army, the attempt at a coup, that they would only come again. He prayed that his family would stop considering him a problem child, that they would listen to him. He prayed that Margaery and her family would leave him be and stop pushing him into worse scenarios that challenged his father. He also prayed that Jon might forgive him. If only Queen Lyanna were still around. She might end the threat from the North. But in the end, Aegon knew that she was gone because she tried just that.

“Prince Aegon,” Lord Connington said, opening the door, “What do you need?”

“I wish to speak to my father,” Aegon answered.

Suspiciously, Connington opened the door and let him in.

_Even ol’ Jon thinks less of me._

His father sat down, putting his ledger down and looking up at him.

“Aegon,” his father said.

“Father, I wish to know what has happened at the Stepstones,” Aegon said.

His father looked at him suspiciously.

_Please talk to me. Haven’t I tried to redeem myself?_

“Why do you need to know?” his father asked.

_Apparently not._

Aegon was about to say Margaery asked, but his father would have called him a manipulated fool if he did. “I want to be sure that our people are not in danger,” Aegon asked.

Rhaegar looked hard at him, no sympathy in his eyes. Aegon remained quiet.

“Sit,” he said. Aegon did as he said. “Jon and Lord Swann found several pirates in the sea near the Stepstones. Lord Swann wrote to me. He said that they were coming back from raids on Tarth when their ships were destroyed by the Golden Company.”

“I heard there was wildfire,” Aegon said.

“Aye” Rhaegar said, “The most disturbing part. From all we gather the alchemists here near Visenya’s Hill are the only producers of wildfire in the world. I’ve sent guards there this morning to investigate.”

If the Golden Company had access to the alchemist’s guild, they not only had a new, great power, but a strong hold in Kingslanding, that somehow managed to remain hidden until now. And when the Company was in Westeros, it only meant one thing.

“If the Golden Company has wildfire that they’ve taken from Kingslanding, that might be pretext for an invasion,” Aegon said.

The king smirked at that. “So you can see that threats from more than one direction now,” his father said. “Now we will need all of us working together to solve this issue. Go to your mother, I believe she has something for you.”

Aegon perked up. “Yes, father,” he said. He got up and left the solar.

Finally it seemed like he was gaining his father’s trust. He still wasn’t close enough to his inner circle to remain for the important decisions, but he was getting there.

As he was walking through the halls, he suddenly heard a voice he hadn’t heard in years.

“I know I’m not the tallest man in the world, but I was hoping you wouldn’t walk right by me,” Tyrion said.

Aegon, shocked, stopped and turned to see the dwarf, still in his Lannister red clothing and a wine glass in his hand.

“Tyrion!” Aegon yelled, rushing to hug his friend.

“Slow down, slow down, you’re going to spill my wine,” Tyrion said, accepting a small embrace.

“I thought you were in Pentos,” Aegon said.

“Aye, I was, and in Braavos, Norvos, in the deserts near Myr and in the walls of Volantis, and wherever any whores were,” Tyrion explained. “But I’ve returned from my conquests with news for you, my prince.”

“My father will be delighted to hear-“ Aegon started.

“No, no, for you, unless you wish to share it after I tell you,” Tyrion said.

Aegon’s eyebrows raised. “What is it?” Aegon asked.

“I saw ships, golden, fat ships, dozens of them around the ports of Pentos. They were flying the sails of the Black Dragon,” Tyrion said.

_Blackfyres._

“Have the Blackfyres returned?” Aegon asked.

“That’s just it,” Tyrion said, “Now I know how much you love your family, and that is why I came to you first, who would not judge so quickly-”

“Tyrion,” Aegon stopped him.

“I saw a man boarding one of those ships, your uncle Viserys,” Tyrion said.

Aegon was shocked. Viserys hadn’t been seen in years but he wasn’t mad enough to start a rebellion. He cared for his family. He wouldn’t war against it. Not against his nephews and nieces, nor his sister or his mother. Aegon turned around, trying to rationalize what he learned. And until then he thought the biggest threat was from the North.

“I know what you are thinking. This is one of the most momentous events in a hundred years. One brother potentially waging war on another. Trusted with this knowledge at your age, this is likely the most stirring thing you have experienced in your life.” Tyrion said.

Suddenly, a bright light shone through the windows in the hall. Tyrion and Aegon turned and saw a giant ball of green light consume the city, and then it disappeared, replaced by fire and the sight of dust covering everything else. Then they heard a loud crash and screaming from all directions.

_Visenya’s Hill._

_The Alchemists Guild._

_Wildfire._

“Um, no,” Aegon said to Tyrion, “That is.”


	18. Love Letters

Jon, I miss you so. And I worry about you, although I know I shouldn’t.

 

Tell me, what has happened of late? Have you discovered anything? Do not think I have grown bored so I require you to tell me. I am simply interested, and I want to know what my husband has been through.

 

I do care for you, Jon, truly and frightfully. You make my heart gush (among other things). I remember your need to protect me, your need to defend me and my honor, your stupid, boyish grin when I praise you. I’m afraid you’ve done something to me that you can’t take back, and with you gone I am having withdrawals. I can barely express my feelings more clearly than to say I want you, now and again.

 

Without you, I have only my cousins to keep me company and few friends, but none can give my the feelings you give me. Often I wake up wet between my legs, eager to rub my thighs against your leg, but I find that it is only my hand. I have to thank you for that last fucking you gave me. I have felt it every day, but now unfortunately that loving soreness has gone away.

 

Nymeria and Tyene say that I’m lovesick, but I know the truth. In our fraught and difficult relationship, my heart has grown to love you. So for your sake, I urge you to worry not about the affairs in the Seven Kingdoms. Your wife shall take care of everything.

 

Please come back soon to me, my love. I promise that when you return you shall get the welcome of a lifetime. And I shall give it to you again and again and again and again.

 

 _Arianne_   _Martell_

 

 

Ari, your letter does me good as we sail into the ports of Tyrosh. Our adventures have been interesting. We found that the Golden Company has taken to sailing up and down the coasts of the Disputed Lands. If anything else happens, I will be sure to tell you.

 

Edrick is enjoying the seas. He has accompanied me most places, and he fought briefly with me against some bandits on the Stepstones. Obara has proven herself again as a most skilled warrior, one that is unafraid to charge into battle and question the men here. I appreciated when she threatened to push the Tarly boy overboard. I must tell you though, that it was not funny to find Myrcella here on the ship. She ran through the Ullers barracks wearing a nightgown, apparently hoping to find me. I am thankful you told them not to touch her, but her fear of being violated made me annoyed with you. I was truly upset with you until I found her in my bed naked that same night. She really just won’t stop. She’s sleeping with Obara now.

 

My wife, I have been angry with you, endlessly frustrated at your daring and your defiance, but I too have grown to enjoy our struggle. I miss your smirks and swaying hips when you challenge me. I miss your slow methodical movements when you put on your dress. I miss the scent of perfume you put right between your breasts, encouraging me to smell.

 

And I have grown needy of your touch. For it is with you that I can show my greatest strengths and my worst weaknesses. My need to fuck you into submission has consumed by mind. I have grown more than angry at your spiteful tongue. I want to show you who’s in charge and fuck you until you’re begging to my obedient, little whore. I want to slap you after every challenging word meant only to spur me on. I want to bite your nipples and grab those giant tits, and make you jack me off with them.

 

And more than anything I want your arse. I want that fat, humongous, beautiful arse on my dick. I want to squeeze it, pick you up by it, leave bite marks on it and have it on my face. I want to bend you in every uncomfortable and embarrassing position to fuck you ever harder. I want to look into your beautiful eyes as you say you belong to me in every way possible, and then your cunt squeezes my cock and releases all your heavenly juices.

 

Thank you for your letter.

 

 _Jon_ _Targaryen_

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments. Leave your thoughts!


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